Dinner At TenForward
by ardavenport
Summary: The Enterprise is sent to take a new Starfleet ensign back to her homeworld to mediate an unusual situation. Since this ensign is nothing less than a walking warp field anomaly with a food fettish, many odd things happen along the way.
1. Chapter 1

**DINNER AT TEN-FORWARD**

by ardavenport

**Note:** This story was written by me and first printed (under the name 'Anne Davenport') in 1994, by Orion Press, as a separate fan novel back in the hard-copy and snail-mail days of fan-fiction, when the internet was just taking off.

**- - - Part 1: ****Mission Ikainet**

Picard frowned at the list in front of him.

Their mission to the Corzani Pulsar was out. He didn't like having to drop it but if the _Enterprise_ was to be at Starbase 215 on time it couldn't be helped. On the positive side, they would be too late to attend the inauguration ceremonies on Losh VII, thus eliminating a detour to a tedious diplomatic affair. Starfleet would have to find some other ship to represent them. He couldn't change the timing of their mission to Sostoy; the priority for that was just too high, so he had to juggle the rest of the schedule around it. Their arrival at three locations was delayed while it was advanced at two others. And they would miss their rendezvous with the U.S.S. _Bangkok_ entirely.

The Captain mulled over the ship's itinerary for another twenty minutes. Starfleet was constantly sending them new missions, many of them last-minute, critical, must-be-done-yesterday tasks. Picard expected occasional disruptions in their schedule, but this one was particularly bothersome. It now forced him to rearrange their assignments for the next four months.

He finished the schedule and moved on to the 'paperwork' that their new assignment had generated, though Picard thought that people had stopped using paper to do their work with long before Starfleet had even been created.

Four civilian scientists had logged immediate transfer requests. Word of their course change had spread fast. The destination of the four had been the Corzani Pulsar. One of them had even added some commentary about Starfleet not taking their research seriously. Picard couldn't place any faces with the names, but he didn't think he'd miss them.

Next came a long list of notifications of course changes and messages to send to their various destinations. A few required his personal attention, the rest he marked in yellow on his screen. These would be handled by Commander Riker.

Crew transfers were severely disrupted, affecting 37 people and 5 dependents either on the ship or due to board. All of them would have to arrange alternate transport through either Starfleet or their scientific or technical sponsors. He marked it all in yellow.

Cargo schedules, maintenance and supplies. Yellow.

They would miss a 120-day check on an upgrade of the ship's environmental systems. Picard made a note to talk to Lieutenant Commander LaForge about it later.

Three astrophysicists were planning an experiment that would require power from the warp engine with **no interruptions** for at least 14 hours. They'd been set to go during a long stop at Florein's Asteroid, but that was now cancelled. The Captain decided to talk to them first before deciding where to fit them in again.

He methodically went down the list. When he was done, over a third of it was marked in yellow. He sat back in his chair, stretched and turned to look out the port behind his desk. The stars streaked by in that peculiar warp field effect that always made the ship appear to be moving faster than it was. His own stern reflection stared back him from the transparency. He had finished only the first round of details for their new assignment. The next round would come when they arrived at Rigel.

Picard had not received any requests for leave at their new destination from any of the _Enterprise's_ Starfleet personnel, but he knew they would be coming. There were a lot of things for people to do ashore in the Rigel system. Civilians were, of course, not required to ask Picard for permission for leave, but they were bound by any rules he set concerning the ship's schedule or risk being left behind somewhere. The Captain considered what those rules would be. Problems rarely arose, but the larger the port-of-call the greater the chance that someone would go astray. Picard thought seriously about not allowing any leave at all since their stop at Rigel would only be for half a day, but that decision would be unpopular. He finally decided on an eight hour shore leave window. That would give them a three to four hour safety margin to round up any stragglers.

And then there were the problems with taking the _Enterprise_ itself to Rigel.

Picard, along with many other Starfleet captains, didn't like the Rigel system. With twenty two inhabited planets, moons, asteroids and major space stations, Rigel supported an insane amount of interplanetary traffic. All that commerce spawned huge bureaucracies that fell upon any ship requesting even something as simple as a parking orbit. It was less trouble going to Earth, even with its crowded spaceways; Starfleet Command at least took care of the formalities for you. At Rigel, Picard was at the mercy of every local official who wanted his time. He'd been to Rigel several times when he'd captained the _Stargazer_, and he expected that the official rituals had only gotten worse.

He turned back to his desk and put down fourteen hours on the schedule for the stop at Rigel. The Captain got up, got a cup of hot tea from the food dispenser, returned to his desk and keyed up the new mission briefing.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Commander Riker sat back in the command chair. The orders from Starfleet had come in a short time ago. The Captain had ordered the necessary course change and then disappeared into his ready room. The ship's schedule would have to be rearranged for the next few months judging from the size of their detour. Riker knew that he would get involved in the process, but only after the Captain had had first crack at it. In the meantime he keyed up Starfleet's new orders on the tiny screen in the armrest of the command chair.

The _Enterprise_ was ordered to pick up the fifth H'car and proceed immediately to the Caroomad system to determine why the Roocaroom were disrupting all interplanetary travel in that system and hopefully convince them to stop.

The mission statement meant little to Riker. He'd never been to the Caroomad system, didn't know what a Roocaroom or a H'car was and had no idea why the other four H'cars weren't solving the problem in the first place. He keyed up the pictorial background data.

The Caroomad system was a relatively new member of the Federation, having been admitted only seven years ago. It was populated by an unremarkable humanoid race living on its one inhabited planet, but the system itself had one outstanding feature. Two billion kilometers out from its single yellow sun a nebulous dust cloud ringed the inner planets, where amidst the dust, frozen gases and small asteroids existed an uncommon species, the Roocaroom. A species of any size born in the vacuum of space was rare enough, an intelligent one was even rarer. The Roocaroom were both. The Federation had encountered such entities, but space born creatures had little in common with planet-bound life forms, so there was hardly much interaction between them. But in the Caroomad system the Roocaroom and the Caroomadi had apparently been on speaking terms, at least on a limited basis, for tens of thousands of years.

In space the Roocaroom were impressive. They had a roughly cylindrical shape from three to five kilometers long. Dozens of randomly-spaced, crystalline arms stretched out from the central trunk. The external body was formed of compressed dust and ice. Inside, the real living part of them, was a long core of hot plasma. They could propel themselves with their own warp field, though they usually didn't take the initiative to travelled faster than light. And along with generating their own warp fields they could also create a variety of gravitational, electromagnetic and undefinable fields as well. With these abilities a few dozen of the Roocaroom, the H'cars, had learned how to change and compress their outer and inner forms and enter the environment of a planet's surface. Over the millennia they had taken on a number of shapes and with the rise of the Caroomadi civilization, they had learned to imitate the form of a Caroomadi humanoid.

The number of the H'cars on the Caroomadi home world, Caro, had varied from as many as twelve down to two with a total of twenty-seven known different H'cars assuming humanoid form among the Caroomadi. But for the past 1300 years there had been only five living on the planet. Once considered to be gods by the ancients, the H'cars were now celebrities from the past in a modern society, sometimes performing tasks when asked and occasionally acting as liaison between the Caroomadi government and the Roocaroom.

But now the relationship between the planet and the Roocaroom had become inexplicably perturbed.

The Roocaroom were, for some unknown reason, moving about in the inner Caroomad system and interfering with interstellar shipping. When questioned about the activity the H'cars on the planet claimed to know nothing about it and to have no control over it as well.

Since the trouble had begun, nearly six weeks ago, two H'cars had left Caro and reverted back their natural form with no explanation. They had rejoined their fellow Roocaroom, but the situation had not improved. The two others had said that they had no information and had nothing to contribute to the situation. The Caro government had sent them out to find out what the Roocaroom were doing and come back. They had left the planet, resuming their natural form as Roocaroom. They had not returned. Satellite scans showed that they were milling around the inner system with all the other Roocaroom. The fifth, and last one, was not in the system at all and the Caroomadi government was demanding that Starfleet return her to them to help settle the difficulties. Riker puzzled over the wording of that demand. The _Enterprise_ was now assigned to transport the last H'car back to the Caroomad system. The fifth Calo was aboard the U.S.S _Beawolf_ and the _Beawolf_ was headed for Rigel.

Returned? Riker pondered that again. What was this H'car doing aboard a Starfleet vessel anyway?

He noticed the time under the tiny screen. He was due in Engineering in two minutes. The new mission would have to wait for ship's business of the present. He signaled Picard that he was leaving Lieutenant Commander Data in charge of the bridge and headed for the turbolift.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Picard scanned the personnel record of the fifth H'car liaison. She (all H'cars were referred to as she even though they were actually sexless) had apparently existed in humanoid form for the past 5600 years. She had witnessed many of the major developments of Caroomadi civilization. Her name was Ikainet. Her abilities were godlike, at least to a primitive culture. She could produce a wide range of force fields, a number of them unclassifiable. She maintained her humanoid form with her own personal warp field which was itself wrapped within microscopically thin force fields that prevented the internal warp field from interacting with the real world. The size, shape and fluidity of all these fields were impossible according to the established theories of warp field physics, but that didn't make any difference to any of the H'cars.

All the H'cars could consume and produce huge amounts of mass and energy. In fact the more the better. Ten billion gigawatts of power were easier for them to deal with than one or two joules. They could all replicate matter to varying degrees, but large quantities of simple elements and molecules were easiest for them to produce, while small complicated things could take them weeks of trial and error to learn, though once they had mastered any particular form they retained that knowledge. But they never seemed to be able to use the forms previously replicated to learn new ones. They always had to start from scratch when learning a new form no matter how similar it was to anything they already knew. In spite of the exaggerations of the Caroomadi god legends, none of the H'cars had ever even come close to successfully replicated living matter. Ikainet, having been at one time the goddess of plenty to the ancient Caroomadi, seemed to have specialized in replicating food.

In appearance the fifth H'car was typical of the native humanoids of her system. She was slender with dark brown skin with a distinctive plum colored undertone. Her hair was outright purple, thick and hanging just past her shoulders. Her eyes were large, her face chinless, her lips thin. Mustaches grew at either side of her mouth, characteristic of the species she had chosen to adopt. The imitated humanoid senses of all the H'cars had been gradually developed millennia ago to detect the tiny amounts of light and sound needed to communicate with the Caroomadi around them. Their body movements and their speech were performed with microscopic amounts of energy compared to what they could easily deal with; these as well had been learned over aeons of practice.

Picard studied the image on his screen a few more moments before moving on to her more recent history. Her service record was not particularly impressive. In fact, it was outstandingly bad. He noted a number of odd incidents and a lot of commentary from her superiors, not surprising considering her origins. And there was a disturbing mayonnaise incident in Ikainet's record from a few years ago.

He sat back and sipped the last of his long since cold tea. It tasted bitter. He rose and entered the bridge.

"Mr. Data, estimated time of arrival at Rigel."

The android rose from the command chair. "We will arrive at the Rigel system in 5.35 days, Sir." He resumed his post in the fore bridge at the Ops station now vacated by a standby crew member.

"Good." Picard sat down and tugged his uniform into place. "The _Beawolf_ will arrive for repairs at Rigel Four in two days. We will establish orbit and complete the transfer of Ensign Ikainet to the _Enterprise_ as quickly as possible and then proceed to the Caroomad system."

"Aye, Sir," Data answered calmly.

"Transfer, Sir?" Commander Riker had just entered the bridge. He strolled down the ramp to the fore bridge and took his seat at the Captain's right. "I thought we were transporting the H'car liaison back to Caro."

"We are Number One." Picard turned to face him. "Ensign Ikainet _is_ the Calo liaison."

**- - - End Part 1**


	2. Chapter 2

**DINNER AT TEN-FORWARD**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 2: ****She Likes Engineers**

"It's big!" Ensign Ikainet turned the package over, looking for an opening. Finding none she tore off the colored paper and continued her search. She found a crack in the cardboard at one end. Hooking her fingers under the flap, she ripped it open. Inside she found it filled with shredded, multi-colored stuffing. Smiling, she grabbed huge handfuls of it and soon emptied the box. Plastic and paper confetti flew everywhere and everyone crowded around the guest of honor ducked futilely. She upended the box and few last flakes fluttered down. She stuck her head in it, but nothing else came out.

"It's empty." Commander Vero Sor, standing behind Ensign Ikainet's chair, complained. "What kind of a gift is that?"

"You don't think I'd actually give anything to this moron, do you?" Lieutenant Zurin Flan answered. "I just thought she'd appreciate being able to throw trash all over everybody."

"Thank-you." Ensign Ikainet answered loudly, still smiling.

"You're welcome, you brainless twit."

"Zurin! This is a farewell party. Can't you be nice just this once?"

"Why should I change now? She doesn't care." Commander Vero put her hand on her hip and glared at Zurin in a way that told him that he was rapidly using up the _Beawolf's_ first officer's patience. He let out a long breath but said nothing else.

"This one's from me." The _Beawolf's_ science officer held out a flat package wrapped in blue paper and tied with a large curly yellow ribbon. Ensign Ikainet took it, probed it for an opening and then ripped open the paper. She revealed a flat three-D transparency of Lieutenant Commander Omum standing between two huge pink, bristly wolf creatures.

"I wanted you to have something to remember me by." Omum's smile was almost as innocently vacuous as Ensign Ikainet's.

How touching. A family portrait." Everyone else at the table either ignored or didn't understand Flan's comment. Getting no answer, he sipped his punch and picked bits of confetti off of his piece of cake. Another person might have been intimidated by Omum's massive size or his superior rank, but Flan knew him too well. Omum was a respectable scientist and a good Starfleet officer, but his personality was stunted. He knew that Omum couldn't comprehend an insult even if he were beat over the head with it. And it irked Zurin mightily that he had to report to somebody who was such a social zero.

"Thank-you." She put the new gift with the others.

"Well I guess it's my turn." A thin, blonde man sitting next to the ensign held out his empty hand to her. He flicked his wrist and a card popped into his palm. Ensign Ikainet didn't react at all to the sleight of hand trick. She took it and examined it closely.

"May. You. Always. Live. With. Surprise. Wishing. You. An Interesting. Existence. Doctor. Hearld," she read from the card, each word separate from each other. She looked back at the man. He held out a silver-wrapped cylinder. She took it, ripped off the decorative covering and tossed it aside. She held up a small black-lacquered can with ornate gold and mother-of-pearl inlay. The legend 'Open Me' was inscribed on its side in delicate gold calligraphy. She shook it and a few lone beads clattered tinnily inside, trapped in the bottom.

"Aren't you going to open it?" a large hairless woman at the opposite end of the table asked.

Ikainet stared back at her, her expression changing from benign happiness to benign worry. Everyone else at the table stared back at her, expectantly.

The quandary initiated a gratifying flood of information about social gatherings and gift giving. She turned back to Dr. Hearld and once again was rewarded with a mental flood of data, this one related to every single thing she'd ever seen Hearld do, cross referenced to the first influx of images. At no point did it occur to her to even wonder what was actually _inside_ Dr. Hearld's gift.

An appropriate answer materialized and it pleased her.

She turned back to the questioner. "I'm not that stupid."

Dr. Vladamir Hearld paused, a little crestfallen. "Oh. I must be getting obvious." Everyone nodded, even Ikainet.

"Doctor..." Vero started.

"I just wanted to give her one last surprise. Ikainet here is one of the few people left in the universe who really appreciates the unexpected."

"You mean she's the only one left on the ship who's too stupid to be bored by your magic act," Flan muttered.

Now Hearld looked annoyed. "Just what is bothering you tonight, Zurin?"

"Oh, nothing." He drummed his fingers on the table. "Except that the only person in this crew totally incapable of appreciating an assignment to the _Enterprise_ gets the transfer."

"So that's what's bothering you," the large, bald woman grinned smugly. She didn't like Flan very much. Zurin was an astrophysicist on the _Beawolf_ and known to be just a bit ambitious about his Starfleet career. "You think you could appreciate it a little more?"

"A house cat would appreciate it more than she could. Labs bigger than Engineering, unlimited computer time, hot and cold running holodecks..."

"Zurin," Vero addressed him. "Just because you..."

"Commander Vero," her communicator said with the voice of Captain Tzaki.

She quickly straightened and tapped the comm badge on her chest.

"Vero here, Captain."

"Please report to Admiral Fletcher's office."

"Yes, Sir."

"And is Ensign Ikainet with you?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Bring her as well."

"Right away, Sir." She tapped her communicator badge again, signing off. "Come on. I guess they want to have a look at you now."

Ensign Ikainet stood and then looked back at the remains of the party.

"We'll have your presents sent to the _Enterprise_," Hearld told her.

"Riiiiiiiight," she answered and left with Commander Vero.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

"Perhaps you and some of your staff would care to join us for dinner on the _Enterprise_ tonight, Captain." Picard invited.

"We would be honored." Captain Tzaki nodded and added a slight bow. "There are many matters to discuss about Ensign Ikainet. Starfleet has very specific orders for her disposition." Picard looked at the Admiral.

"My staff will be relaying them," Fletcher elaborated. "Along with the updates on the Caroomad system. The situation there's still deteriorating."

"As soon as the _Beawolf_ arrived here we had Ensign Ikainet send a subspace message to Caro. Unfortunately, she couldn't tell them what was going on, or why the other H'cars haven't returned to the planet. This has just never happened before. The Roocaroom have never been hostile. A ship hasn't left or arrived on that planet in nearly five weeks and the government's getting nervous."

Before he could go on, the comm panel on the Admiral's desk beeped for attention. When he answered it an aide announced the arrival of Ensign Ikainet and Commander Vero.

A moment later the door to the Admiral's office opened and two people entered. Will Riker noted Ensign Ikainet, but his gaze quickly turned to the _Beawolf's_ first officer, Commander Vero. He looked her up and down. He had rarely ever seen anybody fill a Starfleet uniform so extremely well. Narrow waist, full bosom, shapely hips. Her honey blonde hair was styled attractively on her head and Will Riker couldn't help but wonder how long it was when it was let down. Her skin was smooth, her lips full and her eyes large and blue and accented by the delicate Bajoran ridges between them. Except for the sprinkling of colored bits and shreds in her hair and on the upper portion of her black and red command uniform her appearance was flawless.

Riker straightened and looked pointedly at Ensign Ikainet. It would be rude and unprofessional for him to stare, but he noted that even Admiral Fletcher and Captain Picard gave Commander Vero a second glance. Ikainet was a little shorter than her shipmate, the top of her purple hair came to Riker's chin. Her huge eyes were open all the way and she didn't blink at all. She looked about the Admiral's small office curiously. Her head turned in all directions, pausing briefly at the picture window view of the city below. She even looked up and down. When she stepped in front of the desk she looked down at it's surface and then directly at the Admiral. It was decidedly atypical behavior for a junior ensign.

The top of her head and uniform were dotted with colored bits as well.

Frowning, Tzaki slowly approached his first officer and stood in front of her. Tzaki was very thin and small and stood eye-level with Vero's chest. He reached up and pulled a thready yellow strip from her hair and examined it carefully.

Vero blushed. "I'm sorry about that, Sir. We were throwing a farewell party for Ensign Ikainet and Mr. Flan gave her a box of confetti." Tzaki gazed back at her. The sparse, pale gray mustaches and beard that hung below his chin deepened his frown. He looked at Ikainet.

"You used it."

"Riiiiight." Mouth open, Ensign Ikainet smiled benignly back at him. Tzaki sighed.

"Captain Picard, Commander Riker, may I introduce to you my first officer, Commander Vero Sor and Ensign Ikainet."

Picard stepped forward, perfectly willing to ignore the confetti incident. "Commander." He nodded politely and shook her hand. Her handshake was firm, her palm pleasantly warm. "Ensign." He extended his hand. Without changing her smile or expression, Ikainet grabbed his hand, gave it one shake and released him.

"It's a pleasure, Commander." Riker smiled at Vero, his bright blue eyes just a little suggestive, his beard accenting a slightly rakish smile, but she was still too flustered about her appearance to notice him. Riker let his grip momentarily linger on her strong and, as far as he could tell, perfect hand. He turned to Ikainet. She seized his hand and gave it a brisk shake. Her hand was like warm rubber. She let go, her arm flopping back to her side and then she stood there and looked up at him. Riker swallowed. He couldn't honestly say it was a pleasure this time. Captain Picard was still holding his hand out; he looked like he'd just touched something dead.

"Well, now that we've all been introduced," Admiral Fletcher said, still seated at his desk, "We can go over the situation in your home system, Ensign." The Admiral smiled, but Riker thought it looked a little strained. He must have met Ikainet before, Riker thought. They all took seats. Ikainet, the last to sit down, scanned the whole room before zeroing in on the only empty chair left. While Fletcher started his briefing Riker noticed Tzaki sitting back, a peaceful expression on his face, a small half smile on his lips.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

"Really?" Beverly Crusher asked in surprise.

"I didn't believe it myself," Dr. Hearld insisted. "But a little corlitcyze and those sores went away," he snapped his fingers, "like that." The two stood apart from the other people in the officer's mess. Their conversation had wandered on to subjects related to unsavory medical conditions during the pre-dinner drinks and hors d'oeuvres. The other guests had left them alone. One person approached them.

"Pardon the intrusion, Dr. Crusher," Captain Tzaki addressed them. "If I may have a word with Doctor Hearld..."

Crusher took the hint. "Of course." She gracefully bowed out of the conversation.

"Well, what can I do for you, Captain?" Herald asked, taking a sip from his glass.

Head level, Tzaki looked up at the taller man with his eyes only, his expression absolutely serious. "No magic tricks."

Hearld paused, his jovial mood squelched. He opened his mouth to respond but said nothing. The look on Captain Tzaki's face told him that there would be no arguments on the matter.

"Yes, Sir," he answered, deflated. The silk scarves and flowers up his sleeves were suddenly very irritating. His captain must have seen him produce the small bouquet of African violets for Dr. Crusher. It was his usual warm-up trick. Satisfied, Tzaki left him to rejoin the rest of the diners.

After a few more moments of socializing everyone served themselves from the buffet and took a seat at the table. Captain Picard sat at the head of the table with Captain Tzaki on his right and Commander Riker on his left. Next to Tzaki was Ensign Ikainet, Deanna Troi and then Dr. Vladamir Hearld, Lt. Commander Data and Commander Reg Roth, Captain Tzaki's chief engineer. Next to Riker sat Commander Vero, then Lt Commander Geordi LaForge, science officer Omum, Dr. Beverly Crusher and then Lt Worf. At the far end of the table sat the _Beawolf's_ second officer, Lt. Commander Lucy Pugh, a sad faced woman with a deep voice, faded red hair and who looked at least twenty years older than Captain Picard.

"You have a fine ship, Captain Picard," Tzaki began. "I enjoyed the tour very much."

"Thank-you." Picard took a bite of roast beef. "I understand your own ship, the _Beawolf_ was severely damaged in your last mission and that you were fortunate to make it to Rigel at all."

"Ah, we were detained by the Ferengi." Tzaki began.

Picard and Riker both showed the proper amount of concern. "I hadn't realized they'd made advances in your sector," Picard said.

"Neither did we, until we caught them at it." Vero answered.

"They attacked you?" Riker asked.

"Not directly at first," Tzaki told them.

The _Beawolf_ had come across a single Ferengi ship apparently trying to open a new market with the natives of a planet that had mastered stable interplanetary travel less than a century ago. After a cursory investigation it became clear that the Ferengi's motives were purely exploitative. Clauses in the prime directive and a long list of other Starfleet regulations prevented Tzaki from taking any action, but nothing stopped him from recording the situation. The Ferengi had objected, knowing that it would not look good for their dealings with the Federation. For these Ferengi the solution seemed to be to eliminate the intruding starship. They had laid a trap in the form of a hidden bomb in a derelict ship and then lured Tzaki's ship within its range with a false distress call. The device had done considerable damage, but failed to destroy the _Beawolf_. When they attempted to finish them off the Ferengi were curiously unable to destroy the Federation ship. Their missiles went astray, the _Beawolf's_ shields seemed unusually hard to penetrate, especially for a damaged craft, and eventually after an exchange of fire between the two ships and a protracted stand-off the Ferengi were forced to give up when their energy reserves mysteriously waned. So, when the _Beawolf_ finally limped out of the area the Ferengi were forced to just watch them go.

The answer to the Ferengi mystery was Ensign Ikainet and her ability to absorb nearly anything thrown at the _Beawolf_; she was also able to absorb a significant portion of the Ferengi energy reserves. The encounter had no doubt left the Ferengi wondering how any Federation ship could be so miraculously fortunate and perhaps speculating about what secret weapon had been used. Tzaki had given them nothing other than a curt goodbye when the Ferengi daimon had admitted defeat. Starfleet Command had given specific orders that revelation of Ensign Ikainet's abilities to any hostile or unknown alien was to be avoided. Once out of the area, Tzaki had elected to take a circuitous route back to a safe haven that a Starfleet vessel was unlikely to choose. Thus they ended up at Rigel.

"I wished to avoid any other Ferengi who would attack us for the benefit of their fellow Ferengi," Tzaki explained. He had his hands up, palms together, fingers pointed upward in a thoughtful fashion. "We were four weeks from Federation or allied space."

"You had transmitted these events to Starfleet?" Picard asked.

"Yes, but Ferengi place a great value on physical evidence and that would give them motive to have others of their kind seek us out and attempt to destroy us. I expect the record of the incident will cause great pains to the Ferengi diplomats who will need to explain it," Tzaki answered.

"Excuse me, Sir," Riker began. "But if Ensign Ikainet was able to deflect the Ferengi weapons and drain their power reserves, why wasn't she able to disarm the bomb in the first place?"

"Even Ensign Ikainet cannot do anything about a bomb she does not know about, though she did actually deflect some of the blast after it had become obvious." Tzaki replied. "Precognition is not one of her assets. Her abilities are very powerful, but they...lack finesse."

"How powerful?" Picard asked.

"The Astrophysics Research Division at Starfleet Academy estimated that Ensign Ikainet can produce energies up to eleven thousand times the output of a rayleigh matter/anti-matter converter," Ensign Ikainet told them. The _Enterprise_ personnel stopped eating and stared back at her, and it wasn't just because she had peculiarly referred to herself by name instead of using the first person pronoun 'I'. A single rayleigh converter was usually used to supply the power needs of a large starbase.

"So you have no telepathic abilities?" Riker asked Ensign Ikainet, changing the subject.

"Noooooo," she answered in her usual exaggerated fashion. When there was no immediate response she added, "Lt. Suris at the Academy said she's as telepathic as a rock." Again, there was her odd use of the wrong pronoun. Riker and Picard saw Deanna Troi, seated next to her, nod an affirmative. The captain also noticed that Troi seemed to be avoiding getting too near to her as well and he made a note to himself to ask the counselor about that later.

Picard watched his new ensign. She ate carefully, cutting her food into small pieces, forking them into her mouth and taking precisely three chews. She didn't appear to swallow, but the food disappeared nonetheless. Like Lt. Commander Data she didn't need to eat for sustenance, but did so for social occasions. He speculated about what happened to the things she ate. Then Picard realized that he didn't know where anything that Data ate went to either.

The other _Enterprise_ personnel seated at the table also studied their new crew member. Riker scrutinized her carefully and occasionally questioned her about her abilities. Unfortunately he had little else to occupy himself with since it had become clear early on in the evening that Commander Vero was far more socially interested in Geordi LaForge than himself.

Data observed Ensign Ikainet carefully as well, though his attention was divided between her and Lt. Commander Omum. Data was certain that the _Beawolf's_ science officer was the same species as the valet of Counselor Troi's mother. He was tall and broad and had even less hair than Captain Picard, a little yellowish fringe at the base of his skull. His skin was pale with a blue undertone. Commander Vero, Dr. Hearld and Mr. Roth all passed their wine glasses to him without his even asking for them. Omum gulped them down in a fashion that was very similar to Lwaxana Troi's valet, Mr. Homme.

But unlike Mr. Homme, Mr. Omum conversed freely.

"Starfleet assigned a team of seventeen experts to evaluate Ikky's abilities when she applied to the Academy. They estimated that they were only able to explain about ten percent of the things she can do."

"Ikky?" LaForge asked.

"It's a little nickname I use." He seemed immensely pleased by this.

"He's the only one who uses it," Vero whispered in LaForgei's ear.

Unperturbed, Omum continued, "They've managed to bring the percentage up to twenty-three percent."

"Of Ensign Ikainet's abilities that are understood?" LaForge asked.

"Riiiiiight," Omum answered in way quite similar to Ensign Ikainet.

The dinner progressed with little incident with each person enjoying it in their own way.

Lt. Worf at the end of the table was his usual unsociable self. He concentrated on eating dinner and observing Ensign Ikainet. Nothing else at the gathering interested him though he did once indulge himself by describing a few details of Klingon etiquette to Dr. Hearld, a human who was clearly squeamish about physical violence. Otherwise he had little to say.

Data became totally occupied with a conversation with Mr. Omum, who it seemed had an infinite capacity to enjoy the most technical and tedious of the android's anecdotes. Nobody else at the table felt it necessary to join them.

Dr. Crusher was in the unenviable position of being seated between Mr. Worf who was not very communicative at his best and Mr. Omum, who also seemed capable of producing his own stultifyingly boring tales that fascinated Data. She conversed with Commander Roth and Lt. Commander Pugh, but the topic quickly degenerated to engineering, a subject for which she had no taste.

"We had plenty of power, but the warp converter was fused and we had to make do with spare parts, so we couldn't push it much past warp four or the whole thing would have blown up in our faces," Roth explained.

"Oh," Crusher said.

"Yes?" Mr. Omum answered.

"Not you, O," Pugh told the science officer, who smiled and turned back to Data.

"We were lucky that the warp drive itself wasn't seriously damaged or we wouldn't have had the power to get back," Roth finished.

Crusher swallowed a bite of potatoes and gravy before responding. "I suppose. But from what I hear you probably could have used Ensign Ikainet for power."

"Now that's an idea." Roth sat back, considering the possibilities. "I guess if we had to we could. But it's hard picturing hooking up the converter cable linkages to her. I wonder where I put them?"

"I know where I'd put them," Lucy Pugh said, stabbing a bit of squash.

Dr. Crusher didn't pursue the subject any further, but something at the other end of the table caught her attention.

"So you cook, Ensign Ikainet?" Riker asked.

"Yes. That's what I did before I joined Starfleet."

"Well, I dabble in the culinary arts myself. Maybe we can get together sometime," Riker offered, making a sincere effort to make Ikainet feel welcome on the _Enterprise_.

Commander Vero coughed loudly over her dessert.

"Is something wrong?" Riker asked.

"Oh nothing," she said, getting her breath back. "Except that nobody has ever taught Ensign Ikainet that food isn't a projectile."

"Caroomadi cooking is in general, quite energetic," Tzaki added calmly. "But Ensign Ikainet's chef's credentials are outstanding. As long as she keeps the entree on the plate," he qualified.

"Wear a crash helmet," Dr. Hearld advised.

Will Riker wondered what he'd just volunteered for. Captain Picard already knew he would not attend a meal served by the H'car. He looked at Ensign Ikainet and wondered just what he was getting.

**- - - Part 2 continues . . .**


	3. Chapter 3

**DINNER AT TEN-FORWARD**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 2 continued: ****She Likes Engineers**

"She's very," Picard paused for the right word, "breathless when she speaks." He and Captain Tzaki sat at a table facing one of the large view ports of the darkened Ten Forward Lounge on the _Enterprise_. Rigel IV's clouded, brownish globe occupied the left third of the view. The two had stopped there after dinner for an informal discussion.

Tzaki sipped his synthesized cognac. "It is because she doesn't breathe. She doesn't need to take in air, except for speaking with. However, she can speak normally. It is quite shocking sometimes to see her do it, the difference is so great."

"Why doesn't she speak more naturally all the time?"

"That would not be her style." This statement seemed to amuse Tzaki, and to Picard the other man's smile looked to be the sort that had been earned by experience. Tzaki set his glass down on the lighted table surface and sat back in his chair. "She can imitate any sound, mannerism or speech she's ever seen or heard. She has perfect recall and she has thousands of years of memory to draw from. Whatever she might say, even the smallest phrases, it is almost guaranteed that she heard or saw someone else use it before in a similar situation. She's constantly using the wrong person or tense in a sentence, because everything she says came from other people. And her choice of phrase doesn't always match the situation she's responding to." Picard looked puzzled, the dim lighting of ten-forward making his expression severe.

"She plagiarizes everything she does." Tzaki leaned forward and held up an index finger to emphasis his point. "You can always tell when she's experiencing something new, when she must really concentrate, because her speech degenerates to single words and broad gestures." Tzaki waved his hands demonstratively, before going on. "It is easier for her to select appropriate phrases from her own unimaginably large database than it is to put two words together."

"So you're saying that when she speaks, she's expressing herself with the selection she's chosen, not the words she's using," Picard replied, fascinated.

"Exactly," Tzaki said, pleased with Picard's enlightenment. "And when she first arrived at Starfleet Academy, everything was new. It took her some time to adjust, to acquire new expressions from other people.

"And it took considerable time for the Academy to adjust to her. I reviewed her record. It was appalling. But I was equally appalled by the amount of energy her advisors and instructors wasted trying to train her into something which she is not. She follows orders and she obeys regulations; I do not worry myself about anything else she does. I have not experienced any severe difficulties with her on my crew because I do not question her true nature."

"Which is?" Picard prompted.

"She is an immensely old, multi-dimensional energy entity in an adopted humanoid form with a food fetish," Tzaki answered succinctly. "And, for good or ill, given that Starfleet has made the decision that she is to be a commissioned officer, I do not question the odd things she does, I simply avoid them. And you would sleep better at night than her Academy advisors, Picard, if you did the same."

"Odd things?" Picard asked, sipping his own cognac.

"I could not begin to catalogue all the strange things Ensign Ikainet does," Tzaki stated and then in contradictory fashion proceeded to do what he'd just said he couldn't.

"She doesn't need to sleep, so she is likely to participate in quite a few off-duty group activities; it gives one the impression that she is always everywhere." Tzaki eyes traversed the spacious Ten Forward lounge. "Perhaps you can avoid that since the _Enterprise_ is so much larger. She's peculiarly indiscriminate in her tastes in food or entertainment or acquaintances. Her selections are often random."

"You mean she's indifferent?"

"No, no, she has definite preferences. She prefers a participatory role to an observational one; she likes to put herself in the middle of things, if she can-and this was the source of a great deal of friction that she generated at Starfleet Academy-but she rarely initiates anything."

"Hmmm, it sounds like she could be difficult to get along with."

"No, quite the opposite. She has no preconceived expectations of anyone. Her lack of prejudices can be refreshing. But," he qualified, "her presence is often tiresome. There are an astonishing number of annoying things that an individual might do that don't actually violate regulation. I sometimes think that one of Ensign Ikainet's career goals in Starfleet is to discover them all."

Picard gazed down at Rigel and the black starry space behind it while he digested this information.

"Then you had trouble with her under your command?" Picard asked.

"Her peculiarities can be compensated for," Tzaki replied, stroking the length of one of his mustaches and them steepling his hands before him.

"Compensated for?"

"When I was informed of this transfer I logged the more important things that one should know about her and I included notes on what her Academy advisor, Admiral Tutu, said to me when she first boarded the _Beawolf_." He paused.

"I presume you have reviewed her Academy record?" Picard nodded gravely. "Despite the difficulties she had there, she has proven to be a valuable member of my crew. I must acknowledge that we might not have survived the Ferengi trap without her help. When she first arrived I was very concerned about becoming dependent on her abilities. But she...is not the sort of person that I think of to rely upon except in the direst of emergencies." He looked straight at Picard when he spoke. His eyes, very dark brown, almost as dark as Deanna Troi's black ones, glittered intensely in the light from the tabletop. "While she's on your ship, Picard, no power we know of can touch you, save the subtle ones, surprise Ferengi bombs and your own stupidity. Or hers."

Picard, unwilling to break eye contact, mulled over the other captain's statement. Tzaki had been friendly but very formal throughout the evening and Picard thought that he must be a very reserved man who did not casually reveal his feelings. Picard found it difficult to judge how Tzaki actually felt about Ikainet.

It was Tzaki who broke eye contact with Picard. He glanced down at a point next to Picard's left elbow and his expression lightened considerably. "We have a visitor."

Picard followed Tzaki's gaze. A small child stared up at the two men. Picard frowned and looked around for a responsible parent. Children were generally not allowed in Ten Forward in the evenings or during normal school or daycare hours. And children under 12 were never allowed in unescorted by an adult. The restriction was intended to allow parents to enjoy the exclusive company of other adults, but the off-limits hours also happened to coincide with the times that Captain Picard might be there.

"Who do you belong to?" Tzaki asked in a friendly fashion. The child responded by walking around (almost under) the table to him and then raising its arms (Picard couldn't tell whether it was a he or she) over its head in a universally understood gesture. Tzaki obliged by reaching down and picking it up and setting it on the table in front of him. Picard straightened uncomfortably. He noticed Guinan, Ten Forward's host, hovering at another table. She was smiling. He signalled for her to come over.

"Are you old enough to tell us who you are?" Tzaki addressed the child in a very conversational tone. Unlike Picard, he clearly enjoyed the company of children.

"Ya, ya, ya, ya," the child answered.

Guinan reached the table. "Can I get you something, Captain?"

"We seem to have a visitor," Picard began tersely. "Perhaps you could..."

"Brrrrrrrrrrrrr, boo!" Tzaki tickled the toddler. The child squealed with delight and clapped its hands together. Picard sat back nervously. Guinan's smile grew another half-centimeter. People at other tables were looking at them. Picard scanned the room and heads conspicuously turned away. He saw Commander Vero and Geordi LaForge who were sitting at the bar quickly stifling their smiles.

"Perhaps we should find his, uh, or her parents. It's late and...they'll be worried," Picard said diplomatically.

The child made a grab for the glass on the table next to it and Tzaki swiftly placed the cognac out of reach. "I don't believe you want that," he admonished before answering Picard. "I'm sure someone here can identify this one. Do you know who this child belongs to?" he asked Guinan.

"'Fraid not." She grinned down at the toddler's straight black hair. "I can ask around."

"Da-dan!" Picard jumped in his seat. "Da-dan, da-dan!" Now the child was pointing at him. "Da-dan!" Its voice rose another octave. He sat, spine stiff, and sternly stared back at the infantile grin. It was wearing a pastel green shirt that had clear signs of drool on it. How the hell was a person supposed to respond to _that_? He maintained what he hoped was a dignified silence.

Guinan's smile grew again before she left to hopefully find the child's keeper.

Tzaki distracted the toddler with a finger game; he had very long and graceful fingers that he could separately bend at each knuckle.

Picard felt movement behind him. He turned to see Guinan standing next to a very nervous looking junior ensign. _Putnami_, Picard recognized him and knew he had to be the father or he wouldn't have been standing there sweating. Tzaki noticed him as well.

"You have come to claim your child?" he asked.

Putnami ran a hand through his stringy red hair and visibly blushed, accenting his freckles. "Uh, yes, Sir."

"Then it is you I must thank for her charming company." Tzaki bowed his head, stood and picked up the child.

"His company," Guinan politely corrected. Picard began to wonder if Guinan hadn't known who the child had belonged to all along.

"Really?" Tzaki didn't seem terribly disturbed about his error. "It is so difficult to tell when they are so young." He supported the child with one arm, holding him next to his body. Small arms clutched his neck. Putnami was of average height, but Captain Tzaki was so short that the lieutenant had to reach down to retrieve his son. As he did so the child snatched the communicator badge off Tzaki's uniform.

"I think I'll need that." Tzaki said.

"Robin!" Putnami admonished. He pried the badge from the tiny fist and handed it back. "I'm sorry, Sir. He likes to grab them." He held his son with his right arm so that his own badge was out of easy reach.

"An understandable temptation." Tzaki delicately wiped his badge off on a napkin before replacing it on his chest. He bowed again, clearly dismissing Putnami who nodded and quickly left. Picard didn't move, merely grateful for the child's departure.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Ensign Ikainet preceded Commander Riker out of the turbolift, stopped and, not knowing where they were going, waited for him. Riker nodded, indicating that she should continue forward, and she marched down the corridor beside him.

"She likes engineers," Ensign Ikainet said.

Riker, who as a courtesy was showing her where she would report for duty the next morning, didn't understand the remark.

"What?"

"Commander Vero. She likes engineers."

Riker, who had failed utterly to impress the extremely attractive Vero Sor, did not appreciate hearing this. It meant that his advances had been noted, as well as his failure.

"Thank you," he answered brusquely in a tone that he thought conveyed his lack of gratitude for the commentary. He supposed that this was an example of what Tzaki had described as her "unusual candor".

"You"re welcome," she answered and then continued. "She also doesn't like men who are too big, or too hair-"

"That's enough, Ensign." He stopped and faced her. She stopped and faced him, eyes wide, mouth slightly open in a frozen smile on her nearly chinless face. It seemed to him that this was her standard expression for all occasions. She'd looked like that throughout the evening, hardly changing it at all. It was beginning to irritate him.

"Social Sciences are down this corridor." He pointed. "You'll report to Dr. Blakox tomorrow at 0800. Do you have any questions?"

"Noooooooooooo." Her one word answer lasted nearly two seconds.

Riker, who didn't really have to show her around, had intended to take the opportunity to get to know Ensign Ikainet a little better, engage her in some conversation. Suddenly he didn't feel like talking with her anymore. "Then good night. I trust you can find your way to your cabin?"

"Yeeesss."

He left her standing in the corridor.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

The two starship captains exited Ten Forward and Geordi LaForge finally let out the laugh that he'd been holding in for the past few minutes. Several other people around Ten Forward relaxed as well and the crowd noise in the room picked up noticeably. After some prodding his companion pried an explanation out of him.

"Picard doesn't like children?" Vero asked.

"Oh, I wouldn't say exactly he doesn't like them," LaForge waffled. "He just tends to treat them like they're made out of antimatter."

"Hmmmm." Vero smiled but she didn't really look amused by the incident. LaForge quickly stifled his mirth. She looked down at her synthesized wine, and he couldn't help noticing how nice her profile looked. His VISOR, his bio-mechanical substitute for his sightless eyes, saw Vero amidst a confusion of colors from long infrared to short ultraviolet and then some. But his brain easily picked out and admired the graceful curves of her body and the delicate features of his face. LaFarge was fairly certain that Bajorans kissed, but he wasn't quite sure what else they did. He wondered what the small rigdes between Vero's eyes felt like and if touching them meant anything.

"Uh, Geordi," she started just when he was beginning to worry that the conversation and maybe the evening was fading. "I saw you jump when you first met Ensign Ikainet. Is there something different that you see that we don't already know about?"

"Oh, well, it's just that my VISOR lets me see the edge effects of her warp field. I know it's supposed to be safe, but it's kind of disturbing knowing that that's walking around the ship."

"She was checked out pretty thoroughly at the Academy," Vero explained. "Her field density's incredible. It only extends three microns past the hemming point. And she could stand on top of a subspace generator and you wouldn't see any interaction, even with a AKS meter."

The engineer nodded. He'd already read all the technical estimates on Ensign Ikainet's personal warp field. Then he smiled. "You, ah, know a little about engineering?"

The commander smiled back. He saw the temperature in her cheeks increase slightly. "Well, a little. I studied it when I was at the Academy, but I'm not very good at it." She exhaled and went on. "You can see her warp field?"

"Well, not the field itself. But the drop-off is so sharp it generates a little heat on her skin and the wavelengths are pretty distinctive. I've never seen such a sharp edge before. I didn't think it was theoretically possible."

"It isn't, but that never stopped Ensign Ikainet." She looked back at the planetscape over the bar and watched another couple being served. They were holding hands and the woman occasionally ran a finger down the man's graying beard. Clearly they had no trouble communicating their feelings.

She peeked back at her companion. He was watching two woman conversing at the other end of the bar. He had full lips and precisely cut, tightly curled black hair. A silvery-gold, ridged band jutted out a few centimeters from where his eyes would be and covered that part of his face from temple to temple. She'd been wondering about it all evening. It was obviously a vision prosthetic but she had no idea how it worked or why he needed it. She wondered what he looked like without it.

"Uh, you don't mind if I ask a personal question?" she asked, drawing his attention.

"Uh, no," he responded carefully. Geordi LaForge was not very secure about telling a woman that he was attracted to her. He'd been wrong so many times in the past that he invariably became tongue-tied about it. But Vero Sor seemed different. He hadn't been immediately attracted to her when they'd first met at dinner so they'd conversed easily before he really noticed how feminine she was and that she seemed to like him. But now he'd run out of things to say and he was beginning to worry that the next thing out of his mouth would spoil the whole evening.

"Uh, why do you wear...?" She touched her hand to her own temple. It was a terribly personal question for her to ask, but she couldn't think of anything else to say. What if some hideous accident lay behind its origin? Would she offend by bringing it up?

But he seemed unaffected by the question. He'd answered it so many times in his life that the response was automatic. "I was born blind. It's how I see." She inwardly sighed. His answer held not a trace of insecurity. Perhaps it was his casualness that she found attractive in him, aside from his physique.

"Do you wear it to bed?" She bit her lip as if she hadn't meant to voice the question and LaForge saw the temperature rise in her cheeks again. Bajorans seemed to blush the same way Humans did.

"It's a little uncomfortable," he understated. It had taken him years of therapy and bio-feedback training to get used to pain of wearing it. "I take it off at night."

"Oh." They stared back at each other and then looked away. Vero Sor looked down into her wine glass. Her body temperature crept up a little bit.

"Geordi...," she faced him again, finally tired of her own caution. "We're both sitting here acting like we're afraid we'll step on each other's toes or something. Like we're wondering if maybe there could be something between us, but we might spoil it. And maybe there is and maybe there isn't. But the _Enterprise_ is going to be gone in a few hours and we'll never know if we just keep stumbling around, so, why don't we just make the best of it?"

"What did you have in mind?" He wondered if he should tell her that he could see her body heat.

Slowly she leaned over and kissed him lightly on the lips. One of her hands stroked his thigh.

He smiled back. "I think I can handle that."

**- - - End Part 2**


	4. Chapter 4

**DINNER AT TEN-FORWARD**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 3: ****Shades of Green**

Ranip Blakox, seated at his desk in a corner of the sociology lab punched up the transfer orders for the ensign standing before him.

"Ensign Ikainet," he read from his screen. "Transferring from the U.S.S. _Beawolf_, where you served for about," he checked the stardates, "eight months in the capacity of a junior xeno-sociologist. Before that you were very briefly assigned to Starfleet Intelligence and before that, at the Academy," He checked the dates again. "Tell me Ensign, why did it take you five years to complete a four-year course of study at Starfleet Academy?"

"It took her some time to adjust."

Blakox ignored her bad grammar and punched up highlights of Ensign Ikainet's personal history. "During your five-year tenure you were considered for expulsion twice, failed and had to repeat eleven classes and were put on report fifty-seven times," he read, slightly incredulous. He sat back in his chair and scrutinized her more carefully. Seemingly unruffled by the open criticism in his voice, she stood at attention, directly in front of his desk. She looked at a point just above his head, her chinless face fixed in a slightly open-mouthed smile. The little bit of her teeth that were exposed were yellowish and had rounded edges. She looked to him like the sort of person who always had bad breath.

"We don't get many like you on the _Enterprise_," he told her honestly.

Ensign Ikainet didn't have an answer to the remark, so she said nothing, merely nodding slightly to acknowledge his statement.

Blakox continued to study her. Her skin was brown with a heavy purplish-blue undertone that made her yellowed eyeballs and dark blue irises stand out. The pupils of her eyes were large and dark indigo. Her worst feature was her hair. It was shoulder length. It was straight and thick and hung in limp ropes. It looked a little greasy and was a shade of lavender that clashed horribly with her black and blue-green sciences uniform. Bristlely mustaches of the same color accented her idiotic smile and while she had lavender eyelashes Blakox could see no eyebrows at all under her short stringy bangs.

She stood there, unmoving while the _Enterprise_'s senior sociologist looked at her, making her wait. After three minutes, he decided that she could wait longer than he could.

"So," he started, "you are on temporary assignment to the _Enterprise_ until we straighten out this little bother on your home world." He leaned forward, elbows on the desk top. "Tell me, Ensign, do you have any idea what you're going to do when we get there?"

"Noooo," she answered, her mouth forming a perfect 'o' around the vowel before returning to it's usual vacuous smile.

"Why am I not surprised to hear that?" he asked no one in particular. "Well, we don't arrive there for another nine days; that should give you enough time to get your brain working on the problem."

"I don't have one, Sir."

"A what, Ensign?"

"A brain. Sir. She doesn't have any corresponding humanoid anatomy except for her external appearance."

"Uh, huh," Blakox replied. "Well, I'll be sure to put that in my evaluation of you." He pantomimed writing it down. "'No brain. That explains why you were assigned to Starfleet Intelligence." When she didn't react to his sarcasm he went on. "Well, Ikainet, let me officially welcome you to the social sciences section of the _Enterprise_." He got up and escorted her around a corner to the opposite end of the lab area, talking as he went.

"Starfleet thinks I'm a lieutenant, but I prefer to be addressed by me professional title, Dr. Blakox; is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. Your primary duties will be to work on solving the problem in the Caroomad system, but if that doesn't completely occupy your time I have some secondary duties for you to attend to.

"Since your strengths, what few of them you have, lie in compiling large amounts of data, I've decided to assign you to assessing the ship's sensor readings on our last three planet surveys. We have a bit of a backlog there. I think you will find in general that all of the sciences sections on this ship are prone to having their priorities usurped by the least little convulsion in the ship's primary mission of the day; some commander getting lost on an away team that we have to look for, Romulans or Ferengi blowing things up, huge blathering space intelligences running amok in the corridors and then disappearing without any satisfying explanation, that sort of thing. So, if you were expecting long periods of uninterrupted research you're in the wrong place." He stopped at a computer workstation in a corner at the end of a row of four. There were five or six other people, civilian and Starfleet, in the room busying themselves at their own terminals. Knowing that their superior did not like to have his speeches interrupted, they ignored Blakox and the ensign.

"This is your working area. If you have any questions, ask the computer, or failing that, my trusty assistant here, Mr. Cercy." Blakox made a 'come here' gesture and a man in a mustard-colored civilian jump suit stepped around a work table to join them. He was a typical Human with straight brown hair, tied back in a short ponytail, brown eyes and tan skin.

"Hi there, how you doing?" he asked in a low-class Earth accent.

"I'm fine," Ikainet answered. Standing next to them, Blakox was suddenly struck by how similar Cercy and Ikainet were. They were both the same height and of a similar build; the ensign was slightly thinner at the waist and fatter at the hips. They both had straight hair and similar facial features, except that Ikainet had even less chin than Cercy, which until then Blakox had thought was impossible. Their heads were shaped the same way and they had the same dull-witted stare, except Cercy rarely smiled and Ikainet didn't seem to blink at all.

_Horizon, what have they sent me?_ the sociologist asked himself silently.

"That will be all, Cercy."

"Sure. See you later." He wandered back to the work table and the lighted computer displays on its surface.

"Now this is your orientation itinerary." Blakox handed her a note padd. "When you're finished with all that, you can report back here and I'll introduce you to the rest of my staff."

Ikainet took the padd, glanced at its lighted display and stood there, waiting for Blakox to tell her what to do. The man looked back. _Purple hair_, he thought, _ugh_.

"I don't suppose you could do something about your hair, could you?"

"Hair." The word she spoke didn't convey any question, but she actually looked surprised by his change of subject.

"Yes. It's ugly. You couldn't change it could you? Tie it up? Change the color, maybe?" Blakox recalled that Cercy had ugly hair too, brown not purple, but he at least tied it up in a dignified fashion, so it wasn't an eye sore.

"I can fix my own hair." Ikainet smiled back, not visibly offended.

"Good." A long pause. "You're dismissed, Ensign."

"Riiiight," She nodded, turned and left the room.

She walked out into the corridor, curiously observing passersby as she went. She stepped into a lift with two other people already on it.

"Sickbay," she told the computer. She didn't need to look at the itinerary. She'd glanced at it once and, so, knew what was on it.

0815 - Sickbay: Physical examination

1000 - Deck 12: Security briefing and examination, Mr. Worf

1130 - Quarters: Maintenance check

1200 - Break

1300 - Ship's tour and regulations briefing

1500 - Captain's ready room: Mission briefing, Captain Picard

To Ensign Ikainet, the entire itinerary was one event that she was presently pursuing, so the whole schedule lay in the back of her mind and would stay there until something else replaced it.

The lift stopped and one person got out before it moved on. Ikainet stared at the other person, a Vulcan Starfleet lieutenant in a sciences uniform like her own. He calmly stared back. Automatically every fact she knew about Vulcans, lieutenants and Starfleet uniforms cycled through her mind, but none of it came to any use because he didn't do anything. The lift stopped and the door opened.

"This is Sickbay," the Vulcan prompted.

"Riiight." Ikainet nodded, turned around and left. The Vulcan raised a quizzical eyebrow before the door closed.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

"Dr. Crusher to Ensign Crusher."

Wesley tapped the comm badge on his chest. "Yes, Doctor," he replied. He'd learned not to accidentally call her "Mom" while on duty, but he still thought it.

"Can you come down to Sickbay for a moment?"

"Sure. I'm on my way. Ensign Crusher out." He'd been studying in his quarters since his duties as ensign didn't begin until 1200; his mornings were normally reserved for schoolwork.

He found his mother in the main examination room of Sickbay where she was studying the large lighted black panels of the diagnostic displays. A purple-haired patient lay on the examination table.

"Doctor?" he called. She turned.

"Over here." When he was standing next to her she pointed to the displays. "What is that?"

Baffled, Wesley looked at the readings. In engineering Wesley Crusher was an absolute genius, but he had no interest in the biological sciences, especially medicine. Sick and injured people made him nervous and he knew that his mother knew that. He puzzled over the diagnostics. The medical scanners were on their coarsest settings; even so, all the passive sensors read life sign readings off the scale. The bio-electrical scanners, internal and external were pinned and microbial vibrations read infinite. The readings on the active sensors were mixed. Low end electromagnetic and sound scans showed no life at all while the high end was completely absorbed. And the sub-atomic particle scatterers showed only background readings, as if they weren't even turned on though it was obvious that they were.

Wesley glanced at the patient and then back at the readings. "This doesn't make any sense."

"Tell me about it," his mother said wryly, her head tilted to one side, her red hair slipping further down on her shoulder. Dr. Hearld had warned her to set the medical scanners to their lowest settings with full fail safes if she didn't want any of her equipment damaged. The only thing she could do with her medical instruments was verify Ensign Ikainet's previous examinations. If she wanted a scan that imparted some information, Hearld had recommended an engineering tricorder set for high warp fields. The doctor pulled one out of a pocket of her blue medical jacket.

"Try this." She handed it to her son and inclined her head toward the purple-haired patient on the examination table. Still baffled, Wesley took the instrument, checked it and pointed it at the patient in question. The subspace energy readings went up to levels comparable to that of very small neutron star, but the total real space mass stubbornly stayed at around seventy-five kilograms. Wesley's jaw dropped.

"That's Ensign Ikainet, isn't it?" he asked in a hushed voice. Everyone on the ship had heard about their new crewmate and what she was expected to accomplish in the Caroomad system.

"Um huh." She smiled sympathetically and watched while he adjusted the settings on the tricorder. Beverly Crusher had about as much interest in and knowledge of subspace warp mechanics as her son did in medicine.

In a way she was glad that she'd needed his help to complete the physical examination that regulations demanded of all new crew members no matter what species or dimensional preference they were. Wesley asked about what he was supposed to compare the tricorder readings to and his mother pointed to a computer terminal next to the diagnostics. As she watched, he sifted through Starfleet's data on Ensign Ikainet and she recalled the many times when he was growing up he'd tried to explain his homework to her and how she would inevitably put him off. He'd always said he understood her lack of interest in obscure mathematics and engineering, but often she'd seen the look in his eyes that said he still _wanted_ her to be interested anyway. Beverly had always felt a sense of loss at never having participated in something that Wesley really loved to do, though she'd never felt guilty enough about it to take up engineering for the sake of her progeny. So, in spite of the difficulties, Dr. Crusher felt pleased that Ensign Ikainet's bizarre anatomy had supplied a suitable setting for her and her son to work together on something.

If nothing else, it would be a very interesting examination.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Worf took a phaser, adjusted it to its highest setting, aimed it at Ensign Ikainet and fired.

Nothing happened.

Worf fired again. The beam of deadly yellow radiation struck her in the chest and simply ended there. Absolutely nothing happened. It was as bad a firing at a hologram. She didn't react at all; she just stood there with the imbecilic smile on her face that she always seemed to have. The Klingon scowled; he didn't trust people who smiled too much.

Worf kept the beam on her for at least 15 seconds and then stopped. Its high-pitched whine died down immediately in the echoless volume of the target range. Worf lowered the setting and flicked on the weapon's safety before putting it aside and picking up his note padd. He checked off another item on his list.

The physical test had not been precisely necessary. According to Starfleet's records he could have fired the ship's main phaser banks at her with no visible effect. But if the _Enterprise_ was to have a crew member who was invulnerable to phaser fire he wanted to verify it personally. He moved on down his list.

"Ensign," he began, looking up. She was still standing at the far end of the target range. "Come here!"

She trotted over to him. It was a very strange trot. Her arms stayed straight at her sides, her whole upper body bounced slightly from side to side with each step.

"You have a low rating for hand-to-hand combat, Ensign." he stated when she was standing before him.

"Riiiiight."

"Why?"

"People just hit you until they get tired and go away." Worf stared down at her. She was a fool. He'd suspected it the night before, now he was certain. She clearly had no concept of personal honor.

"We will review what you _do_ know in case you ever do have to defend yourself, or any of your fellow crewmates." They proceeded on to the next item on the evaluation.

**- - - Part 3 continues**


	5. Chapter 5

**DINNER AT TEN-FORWARD**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 3 continued: ****Shades of Green**

"Lieutenant Blakox, will you report to my ready room?"

Blakox started when the intercom chirped. He'd been immersed in sorting out the cultural data from Geogen II. Samples and cataloging equipment littered his desk

_Now who the hell was that?_ He caught himself before he actually voiced his irritation. He had very little reason to either speak with or listen to Captain Picard, so he hadn't immediately recognized the voice.

"Yes, Captain I'll be right there."

He got up, leaving his research where it was and left his office.

""Stepping out?" Cercy asked as Blakox passed his work table.

"Just a brief detour up to The Lord High Captain's Ready Room."

"Oh, what's he want?"

"I'm going up there to find out. I'll dispense all the details later." Blackox left the lab.

Blakox pondered what Picard might want. It wasn't anything good, he was sure of that. Picard knew quite well that Blakox preferred to be addressed as 'Doctor'. The fact that he'd used his Starfleet rank was a bad sign.

Blakox stepped into a turbolift. "Bridge," he told the computer. He thought a few unkind things about his superior. He didn't dislike Picard for any personal reasons, just on general principles. He felt that there had to be something inherently wrong with the personality of someone whose chosen profession was telling other people what to do.

The lift stopped and he stepped out onto the bridge. He took a moment to recall which door was the ready room; he'd only been to the bridge a few times and he was sure that the last time had been over a year ago. He surveyed the large circular room. It was carpeted, tidy and spacious, done in regulation, washed-out Starfleet brick red and tan hues. Blakox was pretty sure that another rear door next to the turbolift to his right led to a conference room, so Picard's ready room had to be one of the two doors on opposite sides of the two duty stations at the fore bridge. He wasn't certain but he thought the other one was the lavatory.

Lieutenant Worf, the ship's Klingon security chief glanced his way, scowling, and Blakox quickly strode to the nearest of the two choices.

'Come,' Picard answered when he pressed the door chime.

He walked in. Picard sat at his desk. Riker stood next to it. Ensign Ikainet was in a chair facing them. She looked much the same as she had that morning, except for her hair.

It was green.

It wasn't just green, it was bright, fluorescent, lime green. It was straight, cut evenly at the shouldersand it had a frizzy top-knot tied with an orange ribbon.

"Lieutenant Blakox," Picard smiled with all the warmth of a snake about to strike. "Ensign Ikainet informs me that you recommended that she change her hair. Given the nature of our present mission, I think it would be best if Ensign Ikainet's appearance remain as it is, ah, was when she boarded. Don't you?"

"Yes, Sir. It was a terribly callous remark on my account.

"Ensign, I didn't mean for you to go to so much...trouble." Ikainet smiled up at him from under her green bangs.

"It was no trouble. I did it during my lunch break."

"Then I'm sure it won't be any trouble for you to change it back," Riker told her. Blakox inwardly frowned in Riker's direction. He only disliked Picard on principle; he sincerely loathed Riker personally. Riker embodied everything that Blakox disliked most in command-line officers. He took his job and rank very seriously. He looked like a Starfleet recruiting poster. His very bearing and posture screamed intimidation. The fact that people told Blakox that he looked like Riker didn't help. He was shorter, slimmer and had black hair, but they had exactly the same cut of hair and beard and even he had to admit that his own facial features were a little similar to the commander's.

Ikainet looked up at Riker and then she leaned over the desk toward Picard. "Should I?"

"I think that it would be best if you assumed your previous appearance, Ensign."

Immediately Ikainet put her hands behind her head and pulled upward. The green hair came off. Underneath, her own purple hair was pinned and tied flat to her head. She plopped the wig down on the desk in front of Picard. She looked eagerly at the top of his pale, smooth, bald head and then down at the green. The two facts connected in her mind.

"Would you like to try it?" she asked, pointing innocently at the mound of disembodied hair.

"No!" Picard answered, a bit too quickly. He tugged at his uniform shirt, straightening it. "Lt. Blakox," he pointed at the wig without touching it. "Will you dispose of this?"

Blakox stepped forward and took the offending hair-piece. "Of course, Captain. Will there be anything else?" he asked politely. _Dust the furniture? Sweep the floor? Polish your head? I only have two doctorates in anthropology and galactic history, you know. _He knew that Picard did _not_ appreciate sarcasm. Blakox suspected that Picard's sense of humor had been ground into non-existence by Starfleet long ago.

"That, will be all, thank you." Blakox turned and left, the doors whooshing closed behind him.

Picard faced his new subordinate again. Her Starfleet record was dreadful, so he'd decided to avoid the subject entirely and get right to business. "Now, Ensign, about our current mission, I understand you have no idea why the Roocaroom have chosen to disrupt Caroomadi space traffic."

"Noooo. It's never happened before."

"I see. You will be able to communicate with them when we arrive?"

"In your natural form. Yes, Sir."

"The _Enterprise_ won't be able to communicate with them directly?" Riker asked.

"Exchanges between Roocaroom are like Romulan disruptors. It's not standard for Starfleet communications."

"Will you be able to prevent the Roocaroom from attacking the _Enterprise_ when we enter the Caroomad system?" Picard asked.

Ikainet opened her mouth and didn't say anything for a few seconds. Picard suspected that she might actually be thinking.

"Nooooo," she finally answered.

"Then Ensign, I think that that would be a very good task for you to begin with. I'm assigning you to work with Mr. Data on the problem. You will report to him after we're finished here."

"Riiiight."

Picard went on to more ordinary routines. "Now, your red alert station on the _Beawolf_ was on the bridge. Captain Tzaki felt that your abilities were too useful to do without during an emergency. So, I am assigning you to the secondary science station for red alert status; Commander Riker will show it to you. I expect that you will acquaint yourself with that station as soon as possible."

"Riiight."

"You cannot use the transporter, I understand."

"Warp fields react badly with transporters. Sir."

"Yes. You are, however, capable of transporting yourself?"

"Riiight."

Picard sat back in his seat. "Show me."

She looked momentarily worried. "Where?"

Picard pointed to a spot next to the view port of his office. Ikainet removed her communicator and put it on the desk. Soundlessly, she winked out of her chair and appeared standing next to the window.

Picard picked up the communicator and questioned her about it.

"You always internalize the matter you transport," Ikainet replied cheerfully. "It's too complicated to replicate. It would take a lot of time for me to learn. I did practice it at the Academy. But I never got it quite right. Admiral Tutu is pissed off big time with all those communicators. I'm ordering you to stop, right now. Captain Tzaki has given her permission to resume her attempt to recreate one. But I still haven't got it right yet. Sir." Picard and Riker looked at each other. The meaning of what she'd said was clear, more or less, but this was the worst case they'd seen of her using other people's sentences to speak with. There had been a brief, but noticeable pause between sentences as she strung them together for her reply.

"What about your uniform?" Riker asked.

"That only has to look right. Sir. This isn't a standard uniform. Anymore." She stepped forward, holding out her arm. "See?" Riker gingerly touched her sleeve. It felt like plastic sandpaper. "It took three weeks for me to learn how to do it," she explained cheerfully. Picard handed her back her communicator. He didn't want to see any of her replication wreckage. She sat down again.

"One final thing, Ensign. Captain Tzaki also told me that the term 'immediately' used in an order from any of your superiors specifically means that you are to act as quickly as you possibly can, which I understand can be considerably faster than your humanoid crewmates."

"Riiight."

"I think that that rule will stay in effect while you are serving on the _Enterprise_, but only for orders given by myself, Commander Riker or Mr. Data. Is this clear?"

"Yeeeeesss."

"Good. You're dismissed."

She got up, turned, marched to the door and left. Riker followed. About ten minutes later Riker returned alone.

"Sent her on her way, Number One?"

Riker nodded. "Yes, Sir. And if I might speak candidly?"

Picard looked up from his computer screen. "Yes?"

"How did she ever get into Starfleet? And make it through the Academy?"

Picard shook his head sympathetically. "I don't know." Picard gestured to the empty chair in front of his desk. Riker straddled the chair and sat down. "I take it you are unimpressed with Ensign Ikainet."

"That's one way of putting it."

The commander glanced down at a notepadd he carried. Its screen showed a list of notes he'd made over the past few days about what he'd been reading in the H'car's record. Riker had intended to bring some of them up during their conference with the ensign. But when she'd showed up wearing that green wig the commander had decided to speak to Picard privately about them.

"Given her record, Sir," Riker began, putting his notepadd on the desk in front of him. "I don't know how she's managed to stay in Starfleet this long."

"Are there any specific incidents in her record that would lead you to that conclusion?" Picard was actually sympathetic to his first officer's sentiments-he'd been reviewing Ikainet's record as well-but the captain wanted to hear the specifics that bothered Riker.

"Dozens." Will Riker put an elbow on the desk and leaned forward. "She took an extra year to get through Starfleet Academy. She either passed her exams with perfect scores or failed them completely."

"She can instantly recall any information she's given," Picard pointed out.

"Yes, she can memorize every fact in the universe, but she can't seem to say a single intelligent thing about any of them." Riker glanced down at his notes. "And she doesn't seem to have improved much after she got to the _Beawolf_. I can't say I would have put up with any of the stunts she's pulled."

"Oh?"

"She got into trouble on shore leave on Pacifica when the owner of the White Palace offered her any drink in the house." Riker referred to a large and elaborate night club that he had patronized on his last visit to Pacifica. "She jumped into his pool and drank it.

"She was put on report once at the Academy for walking through that hedge maze on the grounds." Picard nodded. He'd read about that one. When he'd been at the Academy the captain had become quite close to the groundskeeper there. He found it mildly amusing to picture Boothby's rage when he'd found that Ikainet hadn't actually gone through the maze; she'd just walked through all the hedges to the center.

"Those are just a couple things," Riker went on.

"She seems to perform her duties adequately. Outstanding, in some cases. She can handle the workload of three with no complaints. She was invaluable on an away mission on Saclat II; she was the only person on the _Beawolf_ who could safely enter the quarantine area. She followed instructions exactly and was even able to improvise on the spot when she was out of communication with the ship when the station reactor core was breached."

"By consuming the antimatter in the reactor?"

"A unique solution to be sure," Picard admitted.

"According to Commander Vero's log, when Tzaki asked her what happened to the antimatter, she belched."

"Captain Tzaki didn't seem to have any severe complaints about her behavior."

The commander sighed, sat back in his chair and carefully chose his next words. "If you don't mind my saying so, Sir, Captain Tzaki seems to be a exceptionally tolerant of a lot of things with Ensign Ikainet and his crew." Riker knew that he needed to be succinct and formal about how he phrased his personal opinions about the _Beawolf's_ logs. Picard loathed idle gossip about other officers, and didn't care to hear it, but the _Enterprise_ captain did appreciate the honest opinions of his officers.

The captain frowned and straightened his uniform tunic, his posture subtlety more businesslike than just a moment ago.

"You don't approve, Number One?"

"I would have at least ordered some kind disciplinary action after Ensign Ikainet and Tzaki's science officer played scissors-rock-paper for two hours in the back of the room at a diplomatic function at a Vulcan embassy." Riker referred to Mr. Omum, the huge, bluish-skinned officer who had been so intrigued by Commander Data's technical anecdotes at dinner.

Picard sighed. He had noted Tzaki's lax standards as well. And privately he wondered if that hadn't factored heavily in Ikainet being assigned to the _Beawolf_ in the first place. Tzaki was tolerant to a fault. His medical officer carried a deck of cards in his medical kit. His second officer was nearly eighty and barely managed to pass her active duty physical exam. His science officer-with whom Tzaki had been serving for twenty-two years-had a personality profile that was not too dissimilar to Ensign Ikainet's. It was entirely possible that Headquarters considered him to be one of the few officers who could stand having Ikainet under his command.

"I do not expect that we shall have too many diplomatic functions to attend on this mission," Picard concluded.

**- - - End Part 3**


	6. Chapter 6

**DINNER AT TEN-FORWARD**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 4: ****A Night at the Improv**

It was late in Ten Forward. The crowd was thinning out; only a fourth of the tables were occupied. Near the view port, in a darkened corner, two people sat together. A petite brown-haired woman with large brown eyes fretted about her next words to her companion.

"Well, um, uh, I was thinking..." Felicia Jinsung twisted a napkin in her hands and lowered her eyes.

"Yes?" Data asked inquisitively.

Unwilling to meet those innocent and, once to her so attractive, golden eyes, Felicia spoke to the lighted tabletop. "Um, I was thinking that, well, maybe we shouldn't present our scene at the show tomorrow night."

He didn't answer right away. _I've hurt his feelings_, Felicia thought to herself. _I don't __care__ if he says he doesn't have any. He just doesn't know it._

"But why?" he asked, with just enough pleading in his voice to wrench at Felicia's heart.

"I don't think we're ready."

"But we were doing so well. If we continue to practice, perhaps we can..." he started hopefully.

"No, I don't think so, Data." She looked up at his pale android face. Yes, he didn't understand, he really didn't. He hadn't really understood anything she had said or implied. She felt like dirt.

This had seemed like such a wonderful idea a few weeks ago. When she'd found out that he was interested in doing a dramatic presentation at the Crew Revue, she'd eagerly volunteered. He wanted to do a speaking/acting piece, but didn't want to do a solo performance. She had been in some amateur plays and considered herself a good singer. He'd readily agreed to work with her and, for a little while Felicia, who had harbored a crush on the _Enterprise_ second officer for some time, was in heaven.

He had picked Shakespeare. She had picked the scene. It was a romantic scene, of course. But after weeks of practicing she knew now that android love was not in her future. Her passion for him had faded considerably after being exposed to him every night for a couple weeks. He was too polite, too nice. She felt she was being crass and rude if she weren't just as polite back to him. And when he really got talking about something that interested him, he was boring. Then he would realize he was boring her and apologize.

And then, there was his acting. A being who claimed he did not comprehend human affection was a poor co-star in a love scene. She still liked him, but he was more like a little brother to her now than a potential lover. At no point had he ever figured out that she might have wanted to go beyond simple friendship. And she just couldn't bear to let him go out and make a fool of himself with his stilted Romeo in the balcony scene from _Romeo and Juliet_.

"I think you need to try another scene maybe, Data."

"I had detected a certain unresponsiveness on your part to my acting," he answered thoughtfully.

"I think you need to work on getting the feelings right before attempting anything so dramatic."

Now his eyes drifted downward to the tabletop. "An...unlikely prospect," he concluded before looking back up at her. "You do not wish to appear with me tomorrow night," he surmised.

"No, Data, that's not it! You...you just need to develop a better feel for the material, that's all."

"If that is what you wish."

"I think it would be best." She looked down shamefully. She felt like she was letting him down somehow. She got up. "Well, it's getting late and I have to turn in."

"Of course. I presume this means that we will no longer be practicing together?" he asked quietly.

"I-I guess not." She backed away from the table. "Catch you later." She held her hand up in a little wave.

"Of course."

She backed away a few more steps and finally turned away from those lovely, golden eyes. It was really tragic, she thought. He still looked good.

A purple-haired ensign entered just as she was leaving.

Ensign Ikainet scanned the room eagerly. She'd completed her duties, conferred with Lieutenant Commander Data about the Caroomad mission, scanned all the technical schematics for the _Enterprise_, the ship's logs since she'd had been commissioned, the personal histories of the senior staff and she'd rearranged her belongings and all the furniture in her quarters three times. Now she was ready for a little socialization.

The room was a wondrous thing to Ikainet. In fact, any room with people in it was a marvel to Ikainet. Each individual represented an infinity of possibilities, the beauty of which perpetually amazed her. The women laughing at a table near the window, the couple discussing their intimate secrets in a corner, the visiting ergronomists who'd had a hard day and were relaxing with cups of Irish coffee, they were all capable of an unending range of actions that far exceeded Ikainet's ability to contemplate. Each second was a treat of the unexpected. Ordinary, day to day activities that might have bored her humanoid shipmates, were to Ikainet a wealth of subtleties that she existed for.

It was this need for the infinitely variable that had driven her and the other H'cars to the living inner planets of the Caroomad system aeons ago; deep space and the varied dimensions beyond had contained few surprises and little sustenance for her. The mass of life and activity on Caro had been her salvation, almost a rebirth, and she'd pursued her new life with dedication. From the knowledge she'd gained from the H'cars who'd preceded her on Caro she'd gradually added her experiences to the vast pool of knowledge that shaped her personality. Without ever realizing it, Ikainet had unfailingly aimed at becoming part of whatever society she lived in and systematically rejected any status that would have set her apart from it. Historically, she had always preferred anonymity (along with most other H'cars). Distinction and notoriety brought with it predictability and a less fulfilling existence.

The rise of technology had made it increasingly difficult for her to be part of her adopted world. Her humanoid forms became known and were given a special status that stifled any ordinary interaction. Her behavior deteriorated to an imbecilic nature. She didn't plan it that way, she never planned anything, but people treated her with less deference when they thought less of her and she'd gradually gravitated to the position of a fool. Eventually, she might have been ostracized-for there was only so much stupidity any people could take-had Caro not discovered spaceflight, been discovered by the Federation and later became a member of it.

Now she was just another higher life form in the galaxy. Joining Starfleet, an organization that categorized her as a humanoid-shaped officer with a few unusual abilities, had been the next step in Ikainet's quest to interact with whatever crowd she found herself in. Her personality was improving, too, though it had taken her centuries to become a fool and it would take her centuries more to grow out of it.

So, from ancient god to Starfleet ensign, Ikainet had unerringly aimed for what she perceived to be the most complicated interactions with the beings around her. If someone were to point this out she would have recognized the progression immediately, but nobody ever had, so she'd never thought about it.

Ikainet noted all the people in Ten Forward and what they were doing and consuming and then tromped to the bar and waited. Behind the bar a dark-skinned humanoid in a wide blue hat came her way.

"Hello. Ensign Ikainet, I think?" Guinan greeted her.

"Riiiiiiiight."

"Can I get you something?"

"You can."

"What would you like?"

A man was eating a bowl of orange pudding at the end of the bar. Ikainet pointed.

"Some of that?"

Guinan nodded. "That's a good choice. Would you like a bowl or a cup?"

"How about...a liter?" Ikainet asked with exaggerated eagerness.

Guinan's smile soured a little. She knew what kind of creature Ikainet was. Her own senses told her far more about the ensign than what her human crewmates could see. Her request was intended to garner a reaction from Guinan and the others in Ten Forward, not to gain sustenance. Or perhaps their response to her was a kind of sustenance. She harbored no ill-will toward Ikainet, but Guinan had no ambition to watch her suck down a liter of Capellan tuva-poi.

"How about a bowl to start with."

"Riiiiight."

After receiving her bowl and spoon Ikainet went straight to a table in a darkened corner of the room.

"May I join you?"

Data looked up from his reverie. "Yes, please take a seat." She sat, put a napkin in her lap and spooned some of the poi into her mouth. Data watched, puzzled. He knew that she didn't need to eat. So, why was she eating? He asked her.

"Style. It gives other people something to look at." She shovelled in another spoonful. "May I ask you a personal question?" Data could see a wall of undulating pudding in her mouth as she spoke.

"You may ask."

"What do you do when you're off duty?"

"That is a very broad question. I do many things. Why do you ask?"

"Humans need to rest. It consumes much of their day. You don't."

"That is true. I do not need sleep."

"Neither do I. What do you do with _your_ time?"

"Well," Data mentally filed through all of his most recent activities, painting, music, theater. "Up until quite recently, I was preparing for a dramatic presentation in the Crew Revue tomorrow night." He looked at her curiously. She stuffed in another orange mouthful. "I gather from your record that you are capable of perfectly recalling anything you see or hear."

"Right."

"Have you ever participated in any theatrical activities?"

"Yeeeeesss."

"Then, perhaps you would be interested in assisting me...?"

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Early in the morning Wesley Crusher entered the main sociology lab. Though he was well known in Engineering and the astrophysics labs, he'd never been to this part of the science research areas before.

"Can I help you?" a friendly voice asked. The young ensign whirled around and found a brown-haired man in civilian clothes standing behind him.

"Uh, I was looking for Ensign Ikainet."

"She's over there." The man pointed him toward a corner workstation. Wesley nodded his thanks to the man. Huge quantities of text and sensor data flashed by on the black panel screens where the H'car sat. He watched for a moment. Ikainet zipped through it all at rapid speed, apparently reading and cross-referencing sensor records.

He cleared his throat. "Uh, Ensign Ikainet?"

"Yeeeeeesss?" The screens froze. She turned away from them and smiled at him cheerfully, unaffected by his interruption.

"Um, I'm doing a class project on advanced warp field theory, and I was wondering if I could take readings from your warp field in the engineering lab as part of my project?" Wesley wondered again if she would consider this a personal question. Warp field theory was a favorite school subject to him, but to Ikainet it might be a matter of hygiene.

She turned back to the work station and swiftly pressed the display controls. The screens cleared and then refilled with a long list of text. "This is a reference file for all reports and technical papers about Ensign Ikainet that were logged at the Academy. There is also a second listing of similar studies on Caro. You should review this first. And anything you do will have to be cleared with my immediate supervisor. And the captain."

Wesley swallowed, his slender body leaning forward, and touched a control, scrolling down the lists. There were 327 entries in the first list. There were 2,458 in the second. It hadn't occurred to him that his proposed project would have so many predecessors.

"Um, I'll, uh, look these over first." Suddenly he noticed he was brushing Ikainet's shoulder. When he'd stepped forward to look at the screen she hadn't moved back at all. He hastily jumped back, realizing how close he'd been to the warp field he proposed to study.

"I'll talk to Commander Riker about it, too." He backed away.

"Riiiiiiight," she responded with her open-mouthed smile.

He flashed a nervous smile back at her before turning and leaving.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

The _Enterprise_ command crew assembled around the long table in the conference room off the main bridge. The topic was their current mission to the Caroomad system.

Data reported no progress. He had reviewed the situation with Ensign Ikainet, but they currently had no ideas about how to keep the Roocaroom from attacking the starship when they arrived, nor were they any closer to determining the cause of the attacks.

Picard moved on to the next subject; Ensign Ikainet.

"She does have a unique personnel record," Data commented, his whitish-gold face a mask of android sincerity. "I have reviewed her entire history-"

"Just the high points, Mr. Data," Picard specified.

"Ensign Ikainet first appeared in humanoid form on Caro an estimated 5623 standard years ago. Before then she existed on Caro in various other animate and inanimate forms for several thousand years prior to that. Since then she has turned up at various times in Caroomadi history up to modern times when a continuous record of her and the other H'cars' presence has been kept."

"Turned up?" Riker asked.

"Before the development of photographic and electronic recording devices it was quite difficult to keep track of a H'car's movements. They themselves seemed to shun being treated as supreme beings by the primitive Caroomadi; at the very least they did not encourage it.

"They would disguise themselves as normal Caroomadi?"

"The H'cars have never been very adept at mimicking 'normal' Caroomadi, Commander," Data qualified.

The captain sat back in his chair and straightened his maroon and black jacket and discretely tucked his gray and black uniform tunic into his waistband where it had worked is way loose. "Can she accomplish our mission?"

"Unknown," Data responded honestly. "Nothing similar to the current situation in the Caroomad system has ever occurred and Ensign Ikainet is notably lacking in...ideas. However, at the time, she is the only person available who is even capable of communicating the Roocaroom.

"She can't be trusted," Worf announced.

"Why?" Picard asked.

"If she chose, for whatever reason, to disobey orders or participate in the Roocaroom attack, we could not stop her."

Picard shook his head. "Starfleet Command has trusted her with a commission, Mr Worf," he instructed sternly. "She is no less deserving of our trust than any other member of this crew."

_And,_ he told himself silently, for he had his own private doubts about Ikainet, _it doesn't appear we have any other option._

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Ensign Ayla Redhawk sat down at her station and started her latest assignment. It was mid-afternoon, but no one else was around in the dim, secondary communications room. It might as well have been the middle of the night.

She activated the subspace link; the black screens in front of her reconfigured into a blue framed communications display. She input her identity code, automatically logging the call. The ship's computer initiated a subspace link to the planet Caro.

Redhawk sat up in her chair, her boots flat on the carpeted floor. She ran her hand over her plain, straight brown hair. A Caro communications satellite relayed her call. "Linking: Please Wait" flashed on her screen in pale, yellow. She sighed and sat back in her chair.

It wasn't much of an assignment; just the kind of thing that got assigned to a semi-junior ensign with a modest amount of experience. She tugged on her gold and black uniform tunic. Three weeks ago it had been red and black.

Gold was operations, engineering, security, maintenance. Red was command, and the uniform color assigned to anyone else who hadn't decided what they really wanted to do. Was she limiting herself? Cutting herself off from other possibilities by officially choosing to be a communications specialist? Would she regret it? End up in a tedious and dull career cul-de-sac when all the glamour and excitement was in replications maintenance after all? Maybe she should have picked ship environmental design. Her self doubts were interrupted by an answer from Caro.

A moment later, she was left waiting again while the Caroomadi who'd answered her and who didn't have authority to answer her requests went to go find somebody who did have authority. Redhawk waited. She wasn't asking for anything extraordinary. Her orders showed that Starfleet had already made the necessary arrangements, but the Caroomadi on the other end seemed to feel it necessary to double check all her credentials. The _Enterprise_ would deliver Caro's H'car in seven days, but in the meantime they would need to keep in contact with the planet. That was Redhawk's assignment. She already had an information request list from Mr. Data to satisfy. She would get it, hand it to her superior who would pass it on to the second officer.

She sighed. The Caroomadi were taking their time. She thought wistful thoughts of switching to being a transporter systems analyst.

**- - - Part 4 continues . . . **


	7. Chapter 7

**DINNER AT TEN-FORWARD**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 4 continues: ****A Night at the Improv**

The juggler dropped one of his clubs and the others immediately followed. He quickly picked them up and recovered his act, but the mood was already broken. This was his third major disaster and Picard sincerely hoped that he would be concluding soon. He slouched further down in his seat. Doctor Crusher's elbow brushed the arm of his jacket, an un-subtle reminder that he probably should sit up and at least _look_ like he was interested.

Normally, Picard would never have even considered going to such a mixed amateur performance. But when Doctor Crusher had mentioned that Data was performing with Ensign Ikainet as a last minute replacement his interest had been piqued. On numerous occasions he'd assisted the android in his holodeck theatric excursions, generally serving as audience and critic. And he'd specifically encouraged Data to study Shakespeare. But they hadn't done Shakespeare lately, though he had heard that Data was working on a scene with a young woman who was rumored to be interested in more than theater. The rumor (and Picard disapproved strongly of rumors anyway) seemed to have been groundless.

Mercifully, the juggler finished and took his bows. Picard politely applauded with everyone else. A woman (he recognized her as a shuttlecraft maintenance specialist) in a blue gown stepped to center stage and began singing an Irish folk song in a beautiful operatic soprano. Picard's mood mellowed a bit. This was one of the high points of the evening. For the most part he'd been gravely regretting his rash decision to attend. He'd had no idea that his crew was capable of so much bad vaudeville. And Data was the penultimate act in the show.

The woman finished and then ruined her performance (for Picard, at least) by making her second selection a sing-a-long.

"Daisy, Daisy, tell me your answer true..." the crowd sang out with increasing gusto. Picard stayed tight-lipped through it all. He could see Crusher half singing along as well, obviously holding back out of deference to him. He felt a tiny pang of guilt for dampening her enthusiasm. He even knew the words to the song and it surprised him that he remembered them after all these years. When he was growing up, his family often sang together and he had very fond memories of those times. But he drew the line at singing in front of the whole crew. He had come primarily to see Data and was willing to sit through the other acts for it, but no more.

He rather wished Data were sooner in the lineup, but that wouldn't have freed him from the rest of the show, anyway. Even if Data's performance had come earlier he still wouldn't have been entirely free to leave. Being captain, his leaving in the middle of the show carried more weight than for a lesser member of the crew. And, of course, he was sitting near the front so everyone would see him go, if he did.

The song ended and the singer withdrew to loud, appreciative applause. After a moment the stage darkened. Picard straightened in his seat. Finally it was Data's turn.

The curtains parted to reveal a low platform on stage right. It was decorated like a balcony with a low bannister and tall vases of roses. Data appeared in an Elizabethan costume, with brown tights and a short cape. A spotlight followed him.

"He jests at scars that never felt a wound."

_Oh, no,_ Picard cringed inwardly. If he'd known Data had picked this scene he might not have come.

A spotlight appeared on the balcony and for a moment nothing happened. Ensign Ikainet, in purple Elizabethan skirts and corset, and veiled head-dress, stepped onto the balcony. She strolled smoothly about the balcony, stopping to smell a rose she cupped in her hands, her gestures were utterly different from anything he'd seen from her. She actually moved naturally, as if she were a living humanoid.

"But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the East, and Juliet is the sun!..." Picard slouched in his seat again. "...It is my lady; O, it is my love!" Data recited with flawless technique and not the slightest trace of passion. Doctor Crusher slouched in her seat.

Ensign Ikainet looked earnestly outward toward the audience, opened her mouth as if to speak and closed it. Her expression surprised Picard. She really **did** look earnest, sad, even passionate.

"She speaks, yet she says nothing..." Data went on jarringly. But Picard kept his eyes on Ikainet. She'd completely lost her marionette-on-a-string mannerisms. Her arms, her body moved fluidly, gracefully, accented by the costume. _Why didn't she do that more often if she was capable of it?_ Picard wondered.

"Aye me!" she exclaimed, no gasping, no extended vowels. It didn't even sound like her voice.

"She speaks," Data responded. "O, speak again, bright angel!..." A lot of people in the audience were slouching in their seats now. "...And sails upon the bosom of the air," Data finished.

There was a pause, a hush, while Ensign Ikainet stepped to the front of the balcony.

"O Romeo! Romeo!" she bellowed, shattering the demure characterization she'd portrayed a moment ago. Data jumped, startled. "Wherefore art thou Romeo?" She scanned the crowd with her huge, bulging eyes as if she were looking for him in a fog. "Deny thy father! Refuse thy name!..." she went on melodramatically. Picard sat up. What had happened?

"Shall I hear more? Or shall I speak at this?" Data continued a little hesitantly, having regained some of his composure after the initial shock.

"'Tis but thy NAME that is my enemy..." she raised her hands as if she were leading a battle. "What's Montague? It is not hand." Whack! She slapped the side of her head with her hand, "Nor foot." Wham! A flower pot crashed down to the stage. "Nor arms, nor face..." She waved her arms and shook her head wildly. A general chuckle went through the audience. "That which we call a rose..." She strewed flowers about.

"I take thee at thy word..." Data answered, still in character. Ikainet leaped into the air in badly overacted surprise before answering back. A few people openly laughed.

"...Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?" Ikainet slowly shredded a single rose while she spoke, a maniacal gleam in her eyes.

Data pursued his part relentlessly to Ikainet's increasingly farcical rendition. Data approached the balcony as he spoke, but his movements were wary, at odds with the words he was speaking.

"...wert thou as far as that vast shore washed with the farthest sea, I would adventure for such merchandise." Without warning Ikainet dove forward, seized Data by the collar and dragged him up over the banister.

"Thou knowest the mask of night is on my face..." She held Data at arm's length up off the ground and theatrically acted out the more literal parts of her speech with her free arm. Doctor Crusher coughed and covered her mouth, laughing, but Picard sat still and silent in his seat. Data experimentally tried prying her hand off him, but her grip was unbreakable. "O gentle Romeo, If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully..." Data brought his legs up, planted his feet on her chest and tried pushing away from her, but she was totally immobile, even to the android's titanic strength.

"...pardon me, And not impute this yielding to light love, Which the dark night hath so discovered," she finished, looking imploringly up at Data. He stared back, down at his crazed Juliet.

"Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear, that tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops-" Data went on haltingly, placing a foot on her forehead, but she didn't budge a millimeter.

"Oooooooooo!" She swung him around and down so he was bent backwards. She swiftly changed her grip so that one hand trapped his right hand, the other supported his back. Eyes wide, Data's spine stiffened in her grasp. "Swear not by the moon." Step, step. She advanced and he was forced to scuttle backwards with her. "The inconsistent moon." Step. "That monthly changes in her circled orb," Step. "Lest that thy love prove likewise variable." Step, step. She went backwards this time and he rigidly shuffled forward with her.

"What shall I..." Step. "...SWEAR by?" His voice unexpectedly increased in volume and pitch with the movement. Step.

"Well, do not swear..." She advanced again. They looked like they were doing a tango. That impression was further reinforced when Ensign Ikainet snagged a rose in her teeth as they passed close by a flower vase. The audience was in hysterics.

"Goot night, goot night! As zweet re'ose an' rest come to t'y heart as that wit'in 'y 'reast!" she spoke around the thorny flower stem. She suddenly straightened, twirling her partner.

Click!

Data swung his arms up, executed a perfect backwards somersault over the low balcony railing and landed on his feet, well out of his Juliet's reach.

"O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?" he implored.

She stood there, face frozen in surprise, still clutching Data's hand and forearm.

She spit out the rose. "Oooooooops," she answered loudly. "What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?"

"The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine," Data answered, backing away.

"I gave thee mine before thou didst request it." She clutched his severed appendage to her chest. "And yet I would it were to give again." Data kept backing away.

"Wouldst thou withdraw it? For what purpose, love?" He was almost to the stage exit.

"But to be frank and give it thee again..." she finished her part using Data's arm to wave back at him. "...I hear some noise within. Dear love, adieu!" she cried waving Data's hand in his direction. The lights went down.

The audience applauded enthusiastically, but Picard, tight-lipped, didn't move.

After the show he and Doctor Crusher found Data and Ikainet amidst a knot of players and supporters.

"That was...different, Data," Geordi LaForge congratulated uncertainly.

"You did not enjoy it?" Data asked, concerned.

"Oh, it was great," LaForge amended, smiling, "I was just a little surprised that you, um..." Unsure of the polite terminology, he lowered his gaze to Data's now re-attached arm.

"Ah, that was a...last-minute...suggestion on Ensign Ikainet's part."

"Mr. Data," Picard addressed him evenly, having heard all he needed to hear. "After you and Ensign Ikainet have changed I would like to see both of you in my ready room."

Smiles all around faded and disappeared and an uncomfortable silence settled in the immediate vicinity.

"Yes, Sir," Data answered. Picard turned and left.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Data and Ikainet stood side-by-side, at ease in front of Picard's desk in his sparsely decorated ready room. Picard evaluated his subordinates, but his stern gaze was wasted on both of them. Data, with the surety of a machine, knew that although Picard had adopted a disciplinary posture he had done nothing wrong and must be there only to supply information. Ikainet, who was completely incapable of anticipating anything, waited with her usual neutral pose, ready with every fact she knew about Picard and a total recollection of everything she'd done since arriving on the _Enterprise_ in the fore of her mind.

"Commander," the captain began, "Ensign, I'm puzzled by your performance tonight. You appeared to begin it in one style, but end it quite differently. Did you rehearse it that way?"

"Nooooo," Ikainet replied immediately.

"We improvised," Data amended.

"I see." Picard digested this. "And just how did _you_ improvise it, Mr. Data?"

"My role was primarily a responsive one, Sir."

"I see. So, you did most of the improvising, Ensign?"

"Yeeeesss."

"Why?"

Still facing Picard, she pointed at Data. "He was _dying_ out there."

"And that was sufficient reason to change it?" Picard asked harshly. She stood there with her mouth open in one of her "thinking" postures. Picard's question was just not specific enough to trigger a new answer out of the thousands of possible replies that she could respond with. So she repeated the one she'd already given.

"He was **dying** out there," she repeated with more emphasis.

"And that was sufficient reason for breaking Mr. Data's arm off?"

"Sir, Ensign Ikainet did not 'break my arm off'," Data interrupted Picard in mid-reprove. "I'm quite capable of activating the servo-mechanisms of my arm release on my own. They are-"

"Thank you, Mr Data." Picard cut him off. He'd already guessed that Data had probably initiated the disconnection himself, judging from his perfect landing on stage. But he also felt sure that Data would never have willingly displayed such a drastically mechanical aspect of himself during the stage performance, unless he were acting under duress. "Why did you add it to your performance, Mr. Data?"

He hesitated. "I request that I be allowed to answer that in private, Captain."

"Ensign, please wait outside," the captain ordered.

After they were alone Data explained. "During the performance, when Ensign Ikainet grabbed my back she inadvertently placed her fingers over my off switch. It is specifically designed so that it is unlikely to be activated by accident, but Ensign Ikainet's strength is such that she could have easily done so. I deemed it necessary to use drastic measures to avoid this. Disconnecting an arm seemed preferable to risking being deactivated in public."

"She didn't tell you ahead of time what she was going to do?"

"No," Data admitted. "I believe it was a spur-of-the-moment decision on her part, based upon the audience's initial response to my performance."

"Then you approve of her actions?"

"Not her methods, Captain. They were reproachable and possibly injurious to myself. But her improvisation did elicit a favorable response," he mused thoughtfully.

Picard, arms resting on the glass top of his desk, pursed his lips in thought. He called Ensign Ikainet back in.

"Ensign, why did you change your performance tonight?"

She pointed at Data again. "He was _dying_ out there."

"Yes, I know, Ensign. You've said that already. But you began your performance in a serious fashion."

"We will copy a recorded performance. We were using it as a model."

"And then you changed it."

She nodded vigorously. "I switched to a different interpretation."

"You mean somebody's done _Romeo and Juliet_ that way before?"

"Two mid-twenty-second century comedians, Jaren and Suchet, on Mars Colony Three."

"I was not aware of that," Data commented to her, his gold eyes inquisitive.

Picard dismissed the fact for the moment. The subject was wondering. "Regardless of where you got it from, didn't it cross your mind that you might be publicly embarrassing Commander Data?"

"It was less embarrassing than his acting," she pronounced cheerfully, nodding sagely and pointing at Data.

Picard sat stunned for a moment by the utter tactlessness of her statement, not to mention that it verged on insubordination. It was true. But it hardly needed to be verbalized.

"I'm putting you on report, Ensign, for gross misconduct towards a senior officer." He waited for a reaction and only got her perpetual stupid smile. "Dismissed." His ire was aimed at Ikainet, but it was clear that both officers were invited to leave, and they did.

"Mr. Data," Ikainet addressed the android as soon as the door closed. Everything that Picard had said and done had imparted to her the idea that she had given offense. And now an action needed to follow. She needed to do something, and that prospect delighted her.

Data turned to her as they stepped into the turbolift, leaving the bridge. Her oversized blue-eyes on him, she said, "I apologize for embarrassing you." The doors closed. "Deck twelve." The car started downward.

"It is appropriate for you to tender an apology at this time, Ensign. However I am incapable of feeling embarrassment," he instructed. "Although the net result of your action was positive in relation to the audience response, I would have appreciated it if you had informed me of their likely initial reaction during our rehearsal."

"We didn't have an audience. Then." Data puzzled over this. He knew from her records that she had a strong tendency toward immediate responses to situations and a very weak rating for planned actions and deductive reasoning, but he hadn't calculated what the severity of these traits could lead to. He quickly re-evaluated the methods he'd been using while working with her on the Caroomad system mission plan.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

_"...I must conclude that my attempt at telepathic communication with Cadet Ikainet to be totally unsuccessful. The experience strongly reminds me of a pictorial that my human co-workers consider humorous. In a first drawing two Starfleet officers are standing on an apparently barren plain reporting back to their ship that they have found no sign of life on the planet they are on. In a second drawing the same two Starfleet officers are shown from a very great distance to be standing atop the head of an extremely large creature. I believe a similar situation exists with Cadet Ikainet except that in her case I can at least sense her presence; however, her intellect, in whatever form it might take, appears to be too vast or too diffuse or too alien with which to establish a link with..."_

Troi sat back in her chair and looked at the words glowing yellow on her screen. She'd never seen a Vulcan, psychologist or otherwise, use so many adjectives and anecdotes in a report before.

The door chimed. It was exactly 15:00 and Captain Picard entered, punctual as always, when she answered. She clicked off Dr. Suris' report and folded her hands on her desk. "Captain."

He looked about uncomfortably before settling into the chair opposite her in the "office" portion of the room. Troi sensed the tension within him. He didn't like being in her office. There was nothing about it to make him uneasy, in fact it was specifically decorated to make people feel comfortable. The neutral colors, sofas, low table and subdued lighting were more characteristic of a living room than an office. But it was still the ship's counselor's office. People brought their problems there, discussed them, re-lived them, displayed them in front of another person. Most people on the ship had visited at least once, even the ship's captain.

When he wished to consult her, Picard normally asked to speak to Troi in his ready room, safely ensconced in his own lair while they talked. But this time she had politely pleaded a busy schedule (which was only half true) forcing him to come to her. She hadn't seen him in her office in many weeks and she was curious to see how he would react.

As she expected, he was uneasy, but he quickly put it aside once they began discussing the subject of his visit, Ensign Ikainet.

"Counselor, how different is Ensign Ikainet?" he asked.

"Very," she admitted. "And those differences will inevitably lead to unexpected situations, like last night," she hinted at the previous night's performance. Picard's frown hardened and he told her about his disciplinary action toward Ikainet. He carefully left out the part about Data's off switch. If Data wanted her to know about it (if she didn't already know) he would tell her himself.

Troi sensed that he wasn't telling her everything, just as much as she needed to know. But what she found more interesting was the impression that Picard wasn't nearly as angry about Ikainet as he was curious and irritated by her.

"I would think that given her age, and her position on Caro that you would find her quite interesting from a historical point of view," she commented about what she sensed from him. Ancient cultures and archaeology were a serious hobby of the captain's and it seemed natural to the Betazoid that he might be intrigued by Ikainet's direct relationship with the development of Caroomadi civilization.

"Hmmm, I did review the essential historical facts about Ensign Ikainet, Counselor. And while I do find them interesting, Ikainet is still a member of my crew and I cannot allow myself to show any favoritism toward her by making a special study of her past." Picard adhered to a very strict code of command ethics.

"I noticed you avoided sitting too close to her at dinner when she arrived." Picard moved on to a question he'd been meaning to ask the counselor since Ikainet's first night on the ship.

"Ensign Ikainet's presence is very localized," she admitted. "Across a room I can barely tell that she's even there. But sitting next to her, her presence is quite intense, and if I touch her at all she completely drowns out my impressions of any other people in the room."

"What do you sense from her?" her asked softly, his curiosity focused on her answer.

"She's...vast, Captain," Troi began slowly. As always, it was difficult for her, to put into simple words what her empathy told her. "And...empty."

"Empty?"

"She's totally devoted to the moment at hand." Hoping to make the point clear to him, and herself, she tried mixing her impressions with what she'd read in Ikainet's psychological profile. "Ensign Ikainet is able to recall anything she's done or seen, but I don't actually sense that from her. That ability doesn't affect her emotionally at all. Memories don't move her. It's what she's doing at any single moment, and especially how she's interacting with her surroundings that she responds to.

"In fact," Troi continued, "she acutely needs the variety, the changes, the interaction she experiences with other beings. She can't create any of those conditions on her own. And it goes far beyond defining her sense of self-worth. Without others to respond to, to provide her with the...plurality of possibilities that interaction brings her, she might not even have a reason for existing."

"I find that fantastic, considering what she is." the captain answered. "Starfleet thinks that she and the Roocaroom could be millions of years old. They don't even think she evolved in this dimension. What could she possibly find on Caro or in Starfleet that's so fulfilling?"

Troi shook her head. "Nobody's really sure. There is speculation that she and the other H'cars may have some irregular characteristic that biases them toward the space we live in, but nobody's been able to confirm it. But on a personal level, I could sympathize with her. I wouldn't want to spend my life, however long it is, alone, floating in space."

"Nor would I, Counselor. But you and I are humanoid. Starfleet doesn't even think that she experiences time the same way we do," Troi didn't answer him on that. She'd only given a cursory glance at the technical details of Ikainet's records. Warp field theory and inter-dimensional physics were not her favorite subjects.

"Do you think she can solve the Caroomad problem?"

"No."

"But you still think she can help."

"I think that _we_ can do something to help. I don't think that Ensign Ikainet is capable of even figuring out that there's a problem at all on her own. And if she works _with_ us, we might be able to accomplish something."

**- - - End Part 4**


	8. Chapter 8

**DINNER AT TEN-FORWARD**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 5: ****The Ikainet Factor**

"Enter."

Ensign Ikainet marched into Commander Data's quarters. She looked about the white and tan, spartan rooms like they were a newly discovered world. She spotted Data sitting at his desk in a room to the left of the one she'd just entered and stomped over to him.

"Please sit down, Ensign," he told her without looking up from his computer screen. Her head dropped, looking down at the chair opposite him. A large, orange, tabby-striped cat stared back at her. All the permutations about cats and chairs and sitting on cats went though her mind. Her arm swiftly darted down at the animal, completely startling it. She didn't attempt to grab it, she simply thrust her arm at it as if she were offering to shake its hand.

The cat frantically leapt onto the desk, slid and knocked a note padd onto the floor.

"Spot?" Data looked at his pet, which was glaring at Ensign Ikainet in an accusatory fashion, it's bushy tail twitching. Ensign Ikainet sat down.

"Ensign," he began after he had removed the cat from the desk and retrieved the note padd. "I believe we have sufficiently reviewed all of the factual information about the situation in your home system. We must now formulate a plan by which the situation may be resolved."

"Riiiiiiiight."

Data cocked his head. "You have a suggestion?"

"Nooooooooo."

Data was not disappointed. He'd expected this. He'd thoroughly reexamined Ikainet's records and had concluded that not only was the H'car unlikely to produce a solution on her own, she was quite probably incapable of coming up with any kind of original idea on any subject at all. Data had recalculated his strategy to take this into account. He touched a control on his computer terminal. A ghostly image of a free-space Roocaroom about twenty centimeters long appeared above the desk. Several more of varying sizes appeared after it.

"I have devised several potential courses of action that may be developed into a possible solution." Data didn't consider any of these ideas to be truly satisfactory, but he reasoned that presenting them to Ikainet in an actively visual fashion had the greatest chance of triggering a productive response from her. It was not necessary that their solution be original, just that it solve the problem in the Caroomad system. And buried somewhere in the vast expanse of Ikainet's unique memories might be such a solution. Data hoped his demonstration might bring it out of her. The Roocaroom began to drift over the desk. A tiny _Enterprise_ appeared at one side of the display and began creeping in amidst the larger Roocaroom.

Twenty minutes later they were no closer to a viable solution, and Data was beginning to wonder about the H'car's qualifications for being in Starfleet at all. He had reviewed the possibilities of sending her in amongst the Roocaroom ahead of the ship, having her project a force shield around the ship, having her go in accompanied by a shuttlecraft, and a half dozen other possibilities. But they all had some weakness that hurt communication between the _Enterprise_ and the ensign, a critical element of any plan given her severe lack of initiative. And Ikainet had yet to offer even the most meager suggestion to solve the problem.

Millions of thoughts and bits of information circulated within Ikainet about holograms, the _Enterprise_, and the long lists of information that Starfleet and the Caroomadi knew about the Roocaroom and the H'cars. But none of those thoughts converged to the holographic simulations twirling over Data's desk. She picked things at random; responses were needed and she gave them. Unfortunately, her information about Roocaroom physical structures, multiple holographic representations of the _Enterprise_, and the various crystal food substances formed upon being exposed to vacuum did not advance them toward their goal. Her sense of Data's expectations of her remained.

The problem was that even after being in Starfleet for nearly six years Ikainet still didn't have any meaningful method of translating her perceptions as a H'car and her multi-dimensional existence into words and concepts understandable to her real-space comrades. Her capacity to associate Data's simulation with the actual Roocaroom and their possible action was an ability that she had developed only after thousands of years in humanoid form. Symbolic logic was not a natural talent for the H'cars. And after all that time they'd spent learning it they still often didn't get it right. And this was one of those times.

Unfortunately, the mysterious, glowing shapes floating above the desk finally proved to be too much of a temptation for Spot.

Data was pointing at a possible way for Ensign Ikainet to extend a force field around the _Enterprise_ when a blur of slashing, orange fur came sailing over the desk.

"Spot!"

The cat pranced, rearing up several times with claws fully extended, futilely attempting to capture the frustratingly insubstantial holograms. Data grabbed for the animal and missed, the cat's speed and agility challenging event the android's super-fast reflexes. Ikainet, seeing Data take the initiative, made a grab for the cat as well. And missed as well. Spot, seeing that things had changed to two-to-one, hissed and spat and leapt off the desk, away from them.

Data found himself head and shoulders amidst the holographic display with the ensign, Roocaroom floating by and through them. The tiny _Enterprise_ drifted by, momentarily framed by Ikainet's open mouth. If she'd bitten down, her small yellow teeth would have closed on the little holographic spaceship.

An enlightened expression crossed Data's features. An idea formed in the android's positronic brain.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

"This isn't what Lieutenant Commander Data asked for." Lieutenant Gillan looked up from his subordinate's report. Ensign Redhawk stood firm on her report.

"I know, Sir. But as far as I can tell the whole Caro Roocaroom study project is...not very well organized."

Gillan tapped the padd sitting in front of him on his desk. "I thought the Caloom project was centrally organized from the Tungaras University."

"Yes, Sir. But according to at least four of the people I talked to-and three of them wanted me to promise that what they said wouldn't be reported back to their supervisors-the centralization is being used to limit access to information on the project. There're fifty thousand people working on it and most of them don't know what the other forty-nine thousand are doing. I've only been able to get bits and pieces of the information Mr. Data asked for. And everything about the Tungaras Observatory is listed as 'limited access'. I haven't been able to find anyone who knows anything about any current research about the other H'cars or get any theories about why they haven't returned to the planet."

"Did you send them the authorizations Starfleet got?"

"Yes, Sir." Redhawk nodded. "And the people who looked at them said that they needed to 'verify it' and then they disappeared." A little bit of the past day's frustration showed through in her voice. Redhawk positively loathed standing there in front of her superior with a grossly incomplete report. It didn't matter that it was due to the obstructions of the personnel on Caro. It still galled her that she hadn't been able to finish a purely routine assignment.

Gillan looked down at Redhawk's report, such as it was. Her lack of results wasn't due to lack of trying. She'd spoken to twenty-eight different people, and she'd been obviously working on it late the previous night. The communication log was a sad tale of delays and Caro bureaucrats shunting her around. Anyone higher than a mid-level manager was listed as 'unavailable' when Redhawk had tried to talk to them. It didn't make any sense to Gillan. The _Enterprise_ was on its way to save this planet, or at least its space traffic. He'd have expected communications with the rescuing starship to be placed on a higher priority.

"I'm going to put Putnami and Zuleth in communications with you. Do what you've been doing for now. Talk to as many people as you can on the project. Maybe we can piece something together. And I'll tell Mr. Data about the delay and see if he can get somebody higher up to clear this up." He nodded at Redhawk, dismissing her.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Later that day the _Enterprise_ senior staff assembled in the bridge conference room.

"Lieutenant Gillan has had considerable difficulty obtaining background information related to the Caroomadi research about the Roocaroom." Data described the uncooperative communications from Caro. "We have been given blanket authority from Caro to contact any members of the Tungaras research teams, but critical information has not been forthcoming." Picard frowned at this bothersome delay. Things like that seemed to almost always stem from rigor mortis in the bureaucracy, and they didn't need any more problems than they already had on this mission. His eyes briefly darted toward Ikainet, sitting on the right side of the conference table.

"I'll mention this to the Caroomadi representative."

Having disposed of the minor business, Data rose from his seat and went over to the end of the room to stand next to the wall screen to review the situation.

"The key to communicating with the Roocaroom is preventing them from attacking us before we are able to ascertain their purposes. We've concluded that only another Roocaroom can safely enter the area."

"Then you're suggesting that we send Ensign Ikainet on ahead?" Picard asked.

"That is a possibility. But then she would not have the resources of the _Enterprise_ with which to evaluate any information she could gather. This might unnecessarily prolong this phase of our mission while she searched for a solution."

_You mean she's too dumb to find her way back,_ Riker thought to himself.

"However Ensign Ikainet is capable of modifying her un-compressed external form to allow for a cavity large enough to accommodate the _Enterprise_." Data used a pointer to draw their attention to a simulation on the screen. On it was a figure of the starship. A small point of light leapt up from the saucer section and the picture abruptly zoomed back. The light elongated, stretching into a pale yellow cylinder around the ship. Crystalline branches sprouted and formed. Finally it looked like a zero-gravity version of a dead tree, with the _Enterprise_ still clearly visible through holes in the trunk structure.

"Camouflage?" Picard asked, intrigued.

"Exactly, Captain," Data turned back to the picture while it slowly turned on the screen, different features highlighted in red as he spoke.

"Ensign Ikainet can use her own tractor field to attach herself to the _Enterprise_ and propel her mass synchronously with the ship. With this arrangement, I estimate that we would only suffer an 8.2 percent loss of maneuverability at sublight speeds."

LaFroge whistled. "I'd hate to try that in warp."

"That would only be possible if Ensign Ikainet were to tow the _Enterprise_ as two active warp fields in such close proximity would be prohibitively dangerous and-"

"Yes, Mr Data," Picard interrupted. "Assuming we won't be able to use the warp drive, will Ensign Ikainet be able to defend us in the event the other Roocaroom attack her?"

"That's never happened before," Ikainet exclaimed.

"The Roocaroom have never attacked spaceships before," Worf reminded.

"From all reports of the situation, no energies beyond what is used to normally communicate between Roocaroom have been used against any ships." Data pointed to his simulation again. It showed Roocaroom surrounding the Ikainet/_Enterprise_ combination, exchanging huge bolts of bluish energy. Worf scowled at the displays at the bottom of the screen indicating energy levels high enough to easily decimate the shields and destroy the ship.

"If that's the way Ensign Ikainet communicates with them, how is she going to talk to us?" Riker asked the android.

"We can use our phasers and a modified version of a code system developed in an alien contact exercise during her last year at the Academy."

Ikainet perked up and broke in. "It was a training cruise. To intercept a group of cadets who were travelling to Starbase 12. The on-board instructors evaluated the cadets' response to what they thought was first contact with a new alien life form. It took them four days to devise a method of communication. You wouldn't believe the look on their faces when they found out she was just an upperclass cadet."

"Didn't they recognize you?" Riker favored her with a lopsided smile.

"You were the amorphous plasma cloud." Riker didn't ask her to elaborate or correct her persistent misuse of pronouns.

"We have been working on a more detailed version of the code. We can use our phasers and Ensign Ikainet can reply visually." Data pointed while the simulation went though a hypothetical exchange. Phasers fired from the spaceship to the plasma core within Ikainet's trunk. The plasma core flashed and pulsed in reply.

"If you don't mind, Sir," Geordi LaForge jumped in, "I'd like to give this a test run before we enter the system. Uh, just to the work the bugs out," he amended to Ensign Ikainet. Picard nodded.

"Will be ready when we arrive at the Caroomad system?" the captain asked.

"Yes, Sir," Data answered. After discussing a few more subtleties of the proposed test, the meeting broke up.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Blakox and Cercy shared a late afternoon table in Ten Forward. The place was full, with most of the tables occupied; the dinner crowd was moving in.

"So, you think we'll have our backlog cleared up for once?" Cercy asked over the ale that the Ten Forward host had just served.

"Well, with the purple terror sorting through it all, day and night, we might actually be caught up for the first time in the last seven months." Blakox nibbled his caviar on melba toast. It wasn't real, of course and it didn't taste quite right. The replicator had never been able to do any better than remind him of what caviar was supposed to taste like, but what it did produce was acceptable. Just.

"Yeah, I see her in the lab a lot. Doesn't she rest or anything?"

"No, of course not." Blakox sipped his synthehol wine substitute to wash out the plastic-like after-taste of the pseudo-caviar. Topping one form of swill with another seemed eminently sensible to him. "She works tirelessly, night and day. That way she can bother us more effectively."

"You don't like her much," Cercy commented over his mug. "Maybe if you talked to her sometime, you might see a different side of her."

"In case you hadn't noticed, exchanges with Ensign Ikainet don't go much further past the 'yeeeeeeeesssss' and 'nnnnnoooooooo' phase. And it isn't a question liking or disliking her. I could no more stir up a sincere disliking for her than I could for the furniture in Ten Forward. Except the furniture here has more personality."

"Oh, I dunno. I've heard a lot of interesting things from her. You know they used to think she was a god on Caro."

"No wonder that planet needs rescuing. And if you ask her a semi-infinite number of questions, as you have, then she is perfectly capable of regurgitating an infinite number of facts." Blakox swished his synthehol-wine around in his glass before taking another sip. "That isn't conversation. For normal people, at least."

As usual, the implied insult went over Cercy's head. Or at least that's how it appeared. Privately Blakox wondered if Cercy just chose to ignore them. Even after working with him for five years Blakox found it amazing that a man who was such a good observational sociologist couldn't comprehend simple sarcasm.

"Speaking of which..." Blakox pointed to the door of Ten Forward, through which Ensign Ikainet had just entered. Cercy caught her eye and motioned her to come over. Blakox didn't stop him.

"Well, ready for the big day?" he asked.

"Yeeeeeeesss."

"How unsurprising." Blakox sipped his drink again.

"You're really going to surround the ship when we get there, like they've been saying?" Cercy asked excitedly as he signaled to the host for service.

"Yeeeeeeeesss."

"Like a mythical whale, you will swallow us up. I'm sure Picard can't wait," Blakox commented.

"And you're going to talk to the other H'cars like that?" Cercy asked.

"They're Roocaroom in their free-space form. They're H'cars only when they assume humanoid form."

"Is that how they say it on Caroomad?"

"The planet is called to as Caro. The system is Caroomad. The people are Caroomadi."

Cercy's brow wrinkled. "Well, that's confusing."

"It isn't any worse than you _Terrans_ going around calling your planet _Earth_ and then referring to your _Solar_ system," Blakox pointed out as he scratched the underside of his beard.

"Well, how do they say it on Iotia?"

They were interrupted by the host's cautious approach to their table. Ikainet looked up at him expectantly.

"Ah, what will it be this time? Fifteen dozen pancakes again? A tank of saurian brandy and a straw? Maybe you should just eat the utensils." Over the past few days, Ensign Ikainet had made herself infamous for her unusual consumption in Ten Forward.

"I was asked not to. When I went to the Academy."

"Oh." Blakox had made up his comment about her eating the silverware and cups. It was a little disturbing to discover that his fanciful suggestion was something that she'd already done.

"A small tomato juice, please," she ordered. A few people at nearby tables turned away, disappointed with the selection.

"So, how are you going to do it?" Cercy asked eagerly. "Will that protect us?"

Ikainet sat there with her mouth open with the momentary quandary of which question to answer. "The transformation is accomplished by de-materializing the outer form while simultaneously shifting the..."

"Spare us the plasma physics lesson, Ensign." The only use Blakox had for warp field theory was for getting him from here to there. He loathed hearing the minutiae that made the engineers' voodoo go. "Will it work?"

"Wooooooork?"

"Yes, after we're done, will Picard be all happy and smiley-though I'm sure that's not possible-or will he yell at you?"

"Yeeeeeeell?"

"Yes, yell. At you. Shall I demonstrate?" It was a standard technique for Ikainet to repeat a question when a suitable answer did not present itself. But sometimes a situation produced a more drastic answer-selection response.

"LIKE THIS?" she bellowed back.

All conversation in the room ceased. People at the bar turned their way. People in the darkened corners of the room craned their necks to see what was going on. Blakox, mouth tightly closed, nodded his head once, quickly, and then lowered his eyes. Cercy gulped a few swallows of his ale. After several more seconds the eyes of the room slowly turned back to its own business.

"I can see that you're not going last long on the _Enterprise_. I hope you can finish our backlog before Picard tosses you out an airlock. Tell me Ensign, when you're working on the Caroomad problem, do you do this to him, too?"

"Do what?"

Blakox carefully considered his next question before enunciating it and hopefully avoiding another round of pointless banter. "When you report to the captain at the staff meetings, does he appear irritated and annoyed with you?"

"Yeeeesss," she responded perkily with her usual smile. Conversation, or Ikainet's approximation of it, brought a wealth of subtle and intricate interactions that delighted her when she encountered it. The fact that Blakox, her immediate supervisor, was discussing her poor working relationship with the ship's captain didn't stand out as a significantly more important bit of information than any of the other thousands of bits that filtered through her mind.

"Good." For the first time in his Starfleet career, Blakox regretted not being in a position to attend any senior staff meetings. "That means that as soon as you're finished with our current assignment, Picard will hand you your transfer orders and you'll go back to whatever astral galley you came from."

"Really?"

"Yes, Ensign. People who have to work closely with the command crew, and don't get along well with Picard, don't stay." He finished his synthe-wine and signalled the host for a refill.

"We weren't here then, but I heard that there was a big a turnover in Engineering the first year the _Enterprise_ was commissioned, before Picard promoted LaForge to be chief engineer," Cercy confided.

"When I came on board, Ensign, the chief medical officer was a woman named Pulaski. She was intelligent, witty, efficient, forceful...attractive." He let the adjectives trail off. "And she didn't get along well with Picard. And she's not here now." Pulaski's leaving wasn't the only thing that he held against the captain, but it was an important one to Ranip Blakox. Kate Pulaski had _said_ that she wasn't leaving because of Picard when he'd asked her directly, but he wasn't convinced. To Blakox, the captain hadn't softened a bit toward her during her tour, even after she'd saved his life in a rather touchy heart-replacement operation. But she'd stayed just as stubborn and resolute as ever in spite of his lack of gratitude and support. And in Blakox's eyes at least, it was to Pulaski's credit that she hadn't left until she'd, literally, gotten her pound of flesh out of him first.

The host brought him a fresh glass of synthe-wine and a small tomato juice for Ikainet. Blakox tasted his drink and then nibbled his melba toast. He frowned down at the morsel. It was a loosely held secret that Picard had a few cases of real caviar stashed away somewhere in stores, while the crew made due with replicator fare. Another mark against him for Blakox.

"And it does not seem that you would get along at all well with Picard," he finished. Ikainet smiled back, opened her mouth and holding her glass aloft she filled it up with tomato juice and then closed it. A few seconds later, to Cercy's amusement, a fine mist of red squirted out her ears and then vanished.

Blackox smiled. "Not at all well, I think."

**- - - End Part 5**


	9. Chapter 10

**DINNER AT TEN-FORWARD**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 6: ****Make It Soooooooo**

"You cook, too?" Shantoya M'Baro lowered her eyes and looked sideways at her commanding officer. Riker's grin grew even more.

"I set a very full table," he murmured suggestively. Shantoya looked down at the readouts at the bridge science station, as if she might be interested in the automatic star-mapping routines playing across it.

They stood at the back of the bridge. He was near enough for her to touch him, but not so close that they bumped into each other. The closest person to them was Lieutenant Worf a couple meters away and he had only glanced once toward Riker when he'd returned from Engineering five minutes ago.

M'Baro glanced back at Will Riker. She boldly looked back at his inviting blue eyes before letting her gaze drift downward...past his broad shoulders and chest...and lower.

It would have been unthinkable for M'Baro to have fraternized with her superior officers at her last assignment on Starbase 37. The Admiral had been a prickly old bastard who didn't like to have any member of his staff to have a life outside their duty to Starfleet. But her assignment to the _Enterprise_ had brought her greener pastures. She'd heard that Riker was quite athletic. Much greener pastures.

At first, she'd thought Picard would have the same attitude as her former superior; he certainly looked like that type of older, dedicated Starfleet officer. But the word was that Captain Picard didn't care about what he didn't see, and he wasn't going to go looking for anything that didn't interfere with your duties. That certainly seemed to be the case. He was sitting in the command chair while his first officer was making a date with her three meters behind him.

M'Baro named a time.

"1600 tomorrow," Riker agreed. He started to say something else when Commander Data's voice caught their attention.

"Sensors are picking up something unusual ahead, coming toward us."

Riker straightened automatically, he turned toward the fore bridge.

"Report," Picard asked.

Riker gave M'Baro the briefest of nods before striding away to his post.

"Sensor readings are unclear, Sir. We are not actually detecting something that is there, but rather something that is not there," the android state enigmatically.

"Sensor malfunction?" Riker asked, taking his seat at Picard's right and keying in the sensor output to the display at his right.

Data shook his head. His board showed that the sensor maintenance staff had already thought of that and the 'all clear' light flashed the results of their diagnostic. "No, Sir. All sensors are operating within design parameters."

"Put it on the screen, " Picard ordered. Data pressed a control. The stars on the main view screen shifted and changed. An uneven, perfectly black blob now marred the center of the screen.

Picard and Riker straightened in their seats. Wesley Crusher at the helm nervously glanced back at them. Data swiftly punched up comparison records at his station. Worf's back stiffened.

"Mr Data, is that...?" Picard half asked.

"Yes, Sir." He turned to look back at them. "It is Nagilum."

Picard's face hardened. "Red alert."

The red alert sounded, red lights flashed on the bridge and throughout the ship.

"All stop. Shields up," Riker ordered.

Lieutenant M'Baro almost jumped when a purple-haired figure suddenly appeared next to her at the secondary science station. Commander Riker had warned her about Ensign Ikainet's red alert post, but she hadn't been expecting her sudden appearance. Nobody else acknowledged Ikainet's silent arrival except for a hostile glance from Worf.

"Nagilum is still approaching us."

The black blob suddenly grew in size on the screen.

"Reverse course!" Picard ordered. Ensign Crusher quickly complied.

The screen went completely black. The ship shuddered. The blackness receded. A blackness half the size of the view screen wavered around the edges for a few seconds before it stabilized.

"It had us," Worf's deep voice carried a rarely heard tone of surprise. "A force shield has appeared around the ship, over our own shields." The Klingon stared at the impossible readings at his station for a moment before he realized their source. He turned around. Mouth agape, Ensign Ikainet smiled back at him.

Picard and Riker stood and turned to see what Worf was looking at.

"Ensign," Picard addressed her, "is that your force shield?"

"Yeeeeeeeesss," she answered happily, stepping forward.

Picard frowned, displeased. He looked at Riker.

"What do we do?" Riker asked. "Tell her not to?"

"Sir!" Commander Data brought their attention back to their immediate problem.

Parts of a face had appeared on the view screen. Two large eyes and under them, a mouth had formed out of the darkness, their edges blended into the background as if they had poked out of an oily black film.

"Curious," it said in a deceptively pleasant voice.

"Nagilum," Picard addressed it. It had been nearly two years since the _Enterprise_ had encountered this dangerous entity, but no one on the bridge who recognized it had forgotten the merciless cat-and-mouse game it had played on them. "What do you want?"

"I was about to renew our acquaintance." Nagilum's eyes scanned the persons on the bridge. "But it seems that something," Nagilum's large, liquid eyes travelled to Ikainet and then back to Picard, "is in the way." Ikainet didn't move; her huge indigo eyes stayed eagerly pointed toward the view screen; her body tilted slightly forward, her sciences uniform hanging rigidly from her torso.

"We have nothing to discuss," Picard told it. In their previous encounter, Picard had told it that they would meet among the stars, instead of the black, sub-world within Nagilum's undefinable boundaries where it had tested them and threatened to kill as many as half the crew in order satisfy its curiosity about Humans.

But now the captain felt no desire to learn more about the strange entity that blocked his ship's path. Not if he needed to rely on Ensign Ikainet to protect them.

"Oh, but we have much to discuss," Nagilum replied in its low, melodious voice. "For example." The liquid eyes turned again to Ikainet. "Why would an obviously superior creature," Picard heard a couple of people on the bridge cough and mutter, "associate with Humans such as you?" Nagilum addressed Picard again as it finished.

"That depends on how you define superior," Riker grumbled quietly, but Nagilum heard anyway.

"You do not consider this creature superior." This was not a question. Picard quickly held up his hand, cutting off any further reply from Riker, or anyone else. A conversation was developing and he wanted to stop it and get his ship away from this dangerous being.

"Nagilum, we have nothing to say to you. So, either let us pass-"

"Or?" The being's eyes narrowed.

Picard didn't answer. If Nagilum didn't let them go, what would he do? Order Ensign Ikainet to push it aside? Attack it?

Ikainet still stood, waiting. Or maybe she was just standing there, ready to react, but not cognizant of the danger to the _Enterprise_. Picard was now certain that Nagilum wasn't a threat to her. But he had no idea what would happen if the confrontation escalated. Might she accidentally damage the ship or even kill somebody if she did something? The uncertainty angered the captain. It disgusted him that a member of his crew would even cause him to delay his decision so he might evaluate what her natural unpredictability could produce.

Nagilum settled the dilemma for him. "I will leave," it announced. "But before I leave." It's eyes drifted toward the H'car. "You at least owe me an answer to my question." Picard didn't think he owed Nagilum anything, but if it would end this situation quicker, he was willing to comply. He nodded curtly. They all looked at Ikainet.

"Well?" Nagilum finally prompted.

"Weeeeeeell?" Ikainet replied. Picard lowered his head and rubbed his forehead. Worf, behind and above him rolled his eyes in a pained expression. Ikainet obviously hadn't realized she was being addressed.

Actually it had occurred to Ikainet that Nagilum might want her to tell it why she was associated with humans. But it had also occurred to her that Picard or Riker might answer, or that Nagilum might ask again or that it had a different question, or thousands of other variations. None of the possibilities stood out from the others to prompt her, so she'd simply waited for something else to happen to trigger a suitable response.

Nagilum seemed puzzled, but rephrased his question anyway.

"Why would a creature such as yourself choose to," Nagilum's gaze seemed to scan up and down her uniform, "hinder yourself with beings of such a limited nature?"

Ikainet used the shortest answer she had.

"Why not?"

"I have found," Nagilum replied rationally, "that these humans are arrogant, argumentative and contradictory in the extreme." It added a slight laugh to this last statement, as if it were stating the obvious.

"Soooooooooo." Ikainet leaned a little more forward as she answered.

Nagilum's "face" tilted, as if it were cocking its head.

"They live for shockingly limited periods of time, which they waste struggling against their own natures, forever unsatisfied with the inevitable."

"Soooooooooooooooooooo." Ikainet shrugged her shoulders in a quick, mechanical, up-and-down jerk. Picard and Riker looked at each other. Data, at Ops, looked back towards his commanders and then at the ensign. It seemed to Picard that this wasn't such a bad answer. That or Ikainet just didn't understand the question.

It seemed to satisfy Nagilum.

"A point well taken." It sounded amused.

Then it vanished.

Picard sat forward in his seat. "Mr. Data?"

The android had already checked the readouts. "I am not picking up Nagilum on any of the ships sensors."

"Long range scanners show that the entity has disappeared," Worf reported after making a thorough search. Reluctantly, Picard turned.

"Ensign?"

"Yeeeeeeeesss?"

"Do you," he paused, uncertain how to phrase it, "sense Nagilum anywhere?"

Ikainet did register that he was asking her about the being that was no longer there. "It's gone."

"Cancel red alert," Picard ordered, sitting back down in his seat. "Resume previous heading." Then he and Riker looked to the side again. Ikainet was still standing there.

"You may return to your post, Ensign," Riker ordered crossly. Behind him Lieutenant Worf growled that the undefined force field around the ship had disappeared.

"Riiiiiiiiight," she answered, swung around and marched up the ramp to a one of the rear exits. Riker scowled.

Picard sighed. "You have the con, Number One." He got up and went to his ready room.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

"Subspace link reestablished," the computer announced.

Ploonet reappeared on the screen; Ensign Redhawk couldn't remember the Caroomadi materials scientist's title.

"What happened? Where did you go?" Her large dark eyes were curious. Ploonet had dark, dark blue hair and long mustaches and very purple skin.

"Uh, we had a little emergency here. But it's over now," Redhawk answered a bit vaguely. She didn't really want to go through a whole explanation of what had almost happened.

When the red alert had signalled, they had cleared the entire room, the computer automatically terminating the communications. Thirty seconds after the alert had sounded, Redhawk had been sitting at her red alert station at one of the secondary sensor posts along with three other people. So she'd had a direct view of the thing that had threatened the ship, and of the mysterious force field which the bridge said belonged to Ensign Ikainet.

The emergency had vanished without explanation and the complete details of the incident wouldn't be available until Command logged what had happened. Redhawk wasn't worried about that. One didn't get much sleep at night on a starship spending time getting upset about every life-threatening emergency that came by. But it did make her wonder about Ensign Ikainet. She'd been hearing about the H'car ensign for days. Reporting to Captain Picard's ready room in a green fright wig. Getting phasered by Lieutenant Worf. Using the Ten Forward replicators to make plates of spaghetti that turned out to be composed of one immensely long strand of pasta topped with a tomato based sauce. Redhawk decided to stop by Ten Forward that night and get a look at what everyone was talking about.

She proceeded where she'd left off with her interview. Around her, the six other people in the communications room did the same, their voices a subdued background murmur.

"I just do what they tell me, and I don't ask questions. And all I know or care about is crystalline formations in vacuum. I'm not directly involved in the Roocaroom problem at all. Most of us here had our work suspended when the Roocaroom came into the inner system anyway," Ploonet finally concluded. Redhawk acknowledged her and was about to go to the next name on her list when Ploonet stopped her.

"What are you doing?" the Caroomadi asked, leaning toward her monitor, making her big eyes seem even larger.

"What?"

"I know two other people here who have been contacted by your ship. Are you going to interview everyone about this?"

"We're just verifying some details." Ensign Redhawk repeated the official line. The captain had spoken with the Caro representatives the previous evening, but so far the Roocaroom research project leaders hadn't changed their methods, and were just as unavailable to their inquiries as ever. So that morning, Gillan had expanded the team to eight and had taken personal charge of the Caro communications matter. He sat at a terminal at the opposite end of the room. The people around him and in another communications area were collecting information from as many low-level Caroomadi researchers as they could contact. To Redhawk, it seemed that he was treating the whole thing as some kind of mystery. He was piecing together a visual map of the Roocaroom project organization with big white areas showing where information was being held back.

Ploonet smiled back at Redhawk. The Caroomadii's mouth hung open with her teeth exposed in an oddly innocent looking grim.

"If you do figure out who's really running things on this project, please tell us down here."

**- - - Part 6 continues . . .**


	10. Chapter 11

**DINNER AT TEN-FORWARD**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 6 continued: ****Make It Soooooooo**

That evening, Ten Forward was abuzz with the news of what had almost happened that day.

At a table near the view ports, Ikainet finished her version of the near-emergency on the bridge to an audience of half a dozen people from the sciences departments.

"Absolutely fascinating, Ensign," Dr. Blakox said, stifling a yawn. Ikainet, as usual, didn't react to the slight. "You've just saved the ship from this week's alien menace. Another three or four and you might make up your quota."

"Hey, you wouldn't be joking about it if you'd seen that thing blot everything else out on your sensor screen in two seconds," a skinny technician named Fuguli told him. He was practically sitting in the lap of a gold uniformed tech from communications named Redhawk.

"That must be why I've never tried to do your job, Fuguli."

A woman with graying-hair, Lulu Calfax, lounged in a chair borrowed from the next table and sneered at Blakox. "Ranip, one of these days, a great, ionized, plasma-wolf is going to come on this ship and bite your arm off."

"Well it'll have to get in line, with all the other stuff that comes on this ship." Blakox sat back in his chair and addressed the group like a bearded scholar, "What is it about Starfleet that attracts these things? I've been posted on four different starships and they've all had the same problem, though the traffic load on this ship seems to be a bit higher than average. I know people who serve on dozens of other ships who don't get into one-tenth the trouble we do. If an Iotian survey ship gets boarded by _anything_, even if it's a troop of system cops looking for contraband, it's the biggest thing to happen all year. But tell them you're a Starfleet vessel and suddenly you're drawing every loose entity and miserable bugaboo in the galaxy like a magnet."

The doors to Ten Forward opened and Captain Picard entered. Blakox observed him as he stood there surveying the room.

"My personal favorites," he continued, "were the aliens with big nostrils who stole the captain-without anybody knowing about it-and left their own copy behind. It was a vast improvement over the original. Especially the singing in Ten Forward." Other heads turned, noticing the captain.

Somebody chuckled. "You'd think Doctor Crusher would have noticed the difference," a junior astrophysicist with an elegant pattern of bumps across his forehead muttered.

Blakox groaned. "Oh, not that old rumor again. If they were doing it all the time, like so many people like to think, Wesley Crusher would have spread the news all over the ship at light speed."

"Oh, Wesley Crusher doesn't gossip," Cercy countered.

"Of course not. He doesn't have to. That kid couldn't keep secrets he doesn't even know. You could just read it off of his face as clearly as if it were written there in luminous ink. And if there were even the slightest trace of Picard's paw prints on his mother we'd all know about it by now."

"You're probably right," Calfax sighed as her eyes followed Picard crossing the room, her posture a little too wistful for Blakox's tastes. Lulu Calfax had made it quite clear to him that she found Captain Picard _extremely_ attractive. And that Blackox was not.

"I can't imagine where this persistent talk comes from about Picard being some kind of French lover. I don't know where these Frenchmen could have ever gotten their reputation if Picard is any kind of example." Calfax pointedly ignored him.

The captain made his way through the crowded room to where Guinan stood. It was exceptionally busy in Ten Forward that night. Guinan was standing with her back to him, but she turned as Picard approached. He slowed, hesitating only for the briefest second before he stopped at the booth. Commander Riker's trombone was sitting on the table. The horn portion rested on the lighted tabletop so that the rest of the instrument was vertical and had been hidden behind Guinan. He cast a short wary gaze at the thing before acknowledging Guinan's, Riker's and Counselor Troi's greeting. He had really only wanted to speak to Guinan and now it seemed that he would have to bow out and come back later when Ten Forward was less crowded. Sure enough, Riker had his hand on the trombone and was just about ready to begin.

Over at the far side of the room, Ikainet's attention was drawn away from the science department discussion. She turned and several others turned as well, a little bored with Blakox's griping. Ikainet's expression changed from happy to rapture. It was long. It was shiny gold. And it had moving parts.

She put her napkin on the table, gave a quick, jerky nod to Blakox, Cercy, Calfax and the others and got up.

Commander Riker was halfway through a stylized and slightly stilted version of _When the Saints Come Marching In_ that he'd been working on for four weeks when he noticed the movement. Ensign Ikainet had come over from her table from across the lounge and was now sticking her hand in and out of the slide of his trombone as it went by.

He stopped playing.

"That's great." She pointed at his trombone ecstatically. "I want one."

Riker was too astonished to be really angry. He had no illusions that she would merely play one, but he did not care to see what sort of trouble a trombone-wielding Ikainet could get into.

Picard, who'd been delayed by Lieutenant Commander LaForge on the way out, had seen the whole incident.

"Ensign," he addressed her authoritatively, "don't you have something better to do?" She stared up at him as if she might answer him with an elongated "noooooooo", but apparently she was indeed capable of reading his expression and responding to the real meaning of his question.

"Riiiiiiiight." Action and reaction. The captain's tone and stance, the expressions and postures of Riker, Troi and Guinan and the multitudes of possibilities of actions dissolved into one response. She left.

"I don't believe it." Picard said incredulously after she'd gone back to her own table.

"You didn't see what she had for dinner," Guinan commented.

Riker rolled his eyes and Troi suppressed a smile.

"I don't want to know." Picard told them and left.

Riker and Troi watched Ikainet at her table. Dr. Blakox clapped as if he were applauding her accomplishment. They couldn't hear what he was saying, but Riker was certain that it was something suitably acidic. He couldn't think of a more appropriate supervisor for the H'car. Blakox could say as many nasty things as he wanted to Ikainet and she'd never understand any of them. He laid his trombone on the table.

"Nagilum wouldn't go near the ship with her on board," he said to Troi without taking his eyes off Ikainet. She was acting out her trombone encounter to an audience of science specialists. "She's powerful enough to make Nagilum back down. What else can she do?" The situation was positively unreal to Riker. Ikainet was his subordinate, bound by Starfleet regulations to obey his orders in the line of duty. On their previous encounter, Nagilum had sucked the _Enterprise_ into its own little dimension and toyed with them. Could Ikainet do the same? What sort of powers could he order her to use?

Riker couldn't think of a single thing he would want Ikainet to do for him.

At a table in the upper portion of Ten Forward, another group of people observed Ikainet's activity.

"Ugh," Chief O'Brien scoffed. "I don't know how she gets away with it." His companions, Lieutenant Commander LaForge, who had just sat down, and Lieutenant Commander Data didn't have an answer. "If I reported for duty to Captain Picard wearing a green fright wig, I wouldn't still be on this ship."

"Well, rumor has it that she won't be on this ship for long after we finish with our mission on Caro," LaForge confided. Even with the multi-hued, spectral confusion produced by the light and heat of a crowded room, LaForge could still clearly make out the trace of Ikainet's warp field. He wouldn't miss seeing that. "At least, if Commander Riker has anything to say about it," he confessed the source of his speculation to his companions.

Data nodded thoughtfully.

"The general evaluations of the people who associate with her have not been favorable," the android understated. Then he cocked his head thoughtfully. "I am curious. Even though the people around her respond negatively to her, their reactions to her actions are often positive. For example, her improvisation in our scene at the Crew Revue."

LaForge pursed his lips in thought. Data had a knack for asking innocent questions about things that didn't have any kind of definite or polite answer.

"The problem with Ensign Ikainet is that...the things she does aren't really to be funny, they're just to get attention."

Data's head twitched, his eyebrows shrugged. "That could define the actions of many people. Most people are motivated to perform in public, even to develop friendships with others to enhance their own well-being."

"Yeah..." LaForge was stuck. He hadn't really thought about analyzing or specifically defining what exactly was wrong with Ensign Ikainet.

"The problem is," O'Brien jumped in, "that Ensign Ikainet isn't trying to be friendly by making an idiot of herself in front of everybody. She just wants to be the center of attention. It's all for herself, not for anybody else."

"Then her actions are perceived as being selfish and not sociable?"

"Yeah," LaForge confirmed the android's speculation.

"Class clown is what we used to call them," O'Brien told him.

"Class clown?" Data asked, intrigued.

"Class clown. You know, the kid in class who gets on the teacher's nerves. Makes funny noises at his desk. Passes notes when the teacher isn't looking. Hangs up all the class computers with a funny message like, 'School's Out' or 'The teacher eats worms' or something like that." Data accessed his data banks and found the reference and cross-referenced it with similar concepts.

"Ah, class clown. Prankster. Mischief-maker. Joker. Rascal-"

"Yeah," LaForge cut him off. "Except, it might be okay to be the class clown when you're a kid." He glanced over to where Ensign Ikainet, a glass balanced on her head, was now listening, open-mouthed to a four-way conversation. "It looks pretty stupid when you're an adult." Data also turned to look at the H'car as well.

"I have noted," Data said, "that even though her actions may lack maturity, many people do find them amusing."

"Yeah."

"So, while her social skills may be lacking, her grasp of the Human concept of humor is well developed."

"Well, yeah."

"Humor is an acquired characteristic for the H'cars. According to the general profiles on them, humor is not native to her species; it was a learned trait." The purpose behind the android's observations suddenly became clear to LaForge. Data was constantly seeking ways of becoming more human. His total lack of understanding of Human emotions did not prevent Data from _wanting_ to understand them, to feel them. And humor was a Human trait that Data particularly coveted.

"I hope you're not thinking of imitating her, Data," LaForge warned.

Data admitted that he had thought about it. "But most of her humorous activities are either in poor taste or physically impossible for me to reproduce."

"Take my word for it, Data. There isn't anything you need to learn from Ensign Ikainet."

"I had hoped that observation might explain how she acquired her sense of humor. But it appears to be quite random. I have not been able to determine anything about its possible origins."

"Well, why don't you ask her how she learned about humor?" O'Brien suggested.

Data cocked his head again. "I did. She cannot explain it or it's origins."

Over at her table, Ensign Ikainet had received her order, a plate of round, shiny pink things. She started flipping them up 2 meters into the air and catching them in her mouth with perfect precision.

"Neither can I," LaForge admitted.

**- - - End Part 6**


	11. Chapter 12

**DINNER AT TEN-FORWARD**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 7: ****Night Errors**

Captain Picard poured a fresh cup of tea for the doctor.

"Thank you." She picked up the cup and saucer and sipped the Earl Grey. The breakfast between them had been mostly eaten. They sat across from each other at the dining table in Picard's quarters.

"I really don't know much about it, Jean-Luc," she continued. "I usually don't discuss warp field mechanics with Wesley." She smiled over the rim of her cup.

"Well, Commander Data said that he wanted permission to do some tests on her warp field containment for a class project." Picard ate the last corner of a sweet roll. "It sounded rather intriguing."

"Well, he got in some early work on it when he helped me with Ensign Ikainet's physical when she came on board."

"How did that go?"

"Oh fine, I suppose." She put her cup aside and propped her elbows up on the table, her hands under her chin. "Except that it was something like giving a physical to the ship's engine core."

The captain smiled back. He knew that subspace physics bored her. "I'm glad Wesley was able to help."

"So am I," she agreed.

Picard wiped his mouth and put his napkin down on the table beside him. Regretfully, breakfast was finished. It wasn't that he felt reluctant to go on duty, but he enjoyed his breakfasts with Doctor Crusher. They shared their morning meal much more often together since his encounter with the Borg. It had taken a few weeks for him to recover from that and she'd gotten in the habit of checking on him in the morning. Breakfast with her had gotten to be a bit of a habit that stayed.

They both got up and started to clear the table.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Redhawk handed her note padd to Gillan. She'd gotten up early and pursued a slightly different line in her investigation, and it had paid off. Instead of interviewing just the scientists and engineers working on the Caro communications, she'd spoken with the support staff; the accountants, the purchasers, the record keepers. They didn't know anything more about the technical facts they wanted, but now they at least had a trail of what the Caloom study project had been buying, who worked where and their operating schedules.

Gillan scanned the information on the note padd while the computer correlated it with the information they'd already gathered. The map on his screen blossomed. A satisfied smile spread across his face as he looked up from the note padd.

"Great. Now we might be able to find out what they're hiding." Ayla Redhawk stayed standing at attention while she watched him manipulate the new data like it was a bright, shiny new toy. _He could at least thank me for it,_ she thought a little sourly as she watched the back of his head.

Finally he turned back to her.

"This is just what we needed," he said, raving about the results glowing on his screen. The whole project seemed to be a sorry tale of missed deadlines and poor planning. People were switched around in the middle of their tasks; similar departments operated independently, often duplicating work; red, green, orange charts linked late project deadlines with the bureaucratic tangle. Gillan's organization chart showed a trail of responsibility in blazing white leading to the head administrator's office at the Tungaras University. It seemed to Redhawk that the original assignment-to collect technical information about the Roocaroom in the Caroomad inner system-had been completely swallowed up by their investigation of the project politics on Caro.

"I'm going to finish tying this in with what I've compiled," Gillan said and then turned to her. "Then I want you to complete the report and give it to Mr. Data."

"Me, Sir?" she asked, surprised.

"Well, you've talked to more people on Caro than anyone else. And this," he gestured to his screens, "gives us the best picture we've gotten yet of what's been going on. I think you ought to get credit for that at least."

She smiled back at him.

"Yes, Sir."

"Redhawk." She stopped and turned back to him. "Thanks."

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

The peas slipped off Lieutenant Barclay's trembling fork. He lowered it to his plate.

"What's she doing now?" LaForge asked.

"I-I think she's flossing her head." LaForge and Cor Haas turned to look. Ensign Ikainet, a few tables away from them had gotten a string from somewhere and had managed to run it through her ears. She tugged it from side to side.

"I don't believe it." Haas looked away from the spectacle. Haas was a civilian ergonomist studying the quality of the _Enterprise_ layout for future starship construction. She'd been hovering around Engineering for the past three days. "That creature's really in Starfleet?" she asked LaForge.

"Yeah."

Lieutenant Monroe arrived at their table. She paused, warily looking toward Ikainet's table, and sat down with them. Monroe and Hass had been dating since the second night that Haas had been on the ship.

At Ensign Ikainet's table, Wesley Crusher cringed. It had been a mistake for him to have lunch with her and Doctor Blakox. He'd heard the stories about what Ikainet did in Ten Forward, but it hadn't occurred to him what it would be like to be sitting there watching her do it next to him. Crusher wondered how Blakox could stand it. But the sociologist seemed perfectly content and neutral, even as the eyes of Ten Forward focused in on their table.

Ikainet finished her demonstration and released the ends of the Spican string bean. She sucked it up into her head and the bean disappeared. Wesley was grateful that only one of them had come with her salad.

"I realize that everyone does stare at you," Blakox began, "but you're getting some particularly fearful looks from that table over there." He pointed, and Crusher recognized Lieutenant Barclay and Lieutenant Commander LaForge sitting there. The fearful looks were coming from Monroe, a newly promoted junior lieutenant who had just been posted to the night watch on the bridge.

Ikainet looked at Blackox's finger and then at where it was pointing. Her mouth grinned with joy and she waved both her arms over her head in some manic form of greeting. Crusher saw Monroe cringe and try to hide behind a blonde woman with vertical indentations on her forehead.

"Someone you know?" Blakox asked cheerfully.

Back LaForge's table: "She arrived at the Academy my junior year," Monroe told her companions. "And everyone learned right away that you _never_ tried to pull anything on Cadet Ikainet."

"Like what?" LaForge asked.

"You know...the usual practical jokes and ragging the new cadets." LaForge nodded his understanding. Barclay looked distinctly uncomfortable, as if Monroe were dredging up painful memories for the nervous lieutenant. "But things like that would always backfire on her. Especially if you tried anything in the dining hall.

"She might act stupid, but she's _not_ as dumb as she looks," Monroe warned.

At their table, Ikainet explained her relationship to Monroe to Crusher and Doctor Blakox.

"So you were classmates at the Academy," her supervisor noted. Blakox was proud not to have attended Starfleet Academy. He'd gotten his academic training on his homeworld, Iotia. He'd joined Starfleet as an officer/specialist and had gone through his 90 day indoctrination at the Starfleet training center on Mars.

"Cadet Monroe is upper class. When I was at the Academy." Ikainet nodded.

"I see. Then you were chums in school together."

"Nooooooooooo."

"Nooooooooo," Blakox imitated the H'car. "I suppose not. Unless all your old friends try to hide from you. Just what was your connection to her?"

"Cadet Monroe is really bad. If she sits with you at dinner, you'll have to sit at attention until your food gets cold. And then you'd better eat the way she tells you, or you'll be there all night. And that's if she likes you."

"Ah, yes. Upper class hazing. Where all proto-Starfleet officers get in their training quota of ritualistic sadism. She sat with you at dinner, didn't she?"

"Yeeeeeeesss!"

"What did you do?"

Ikainet smiled pleasantly at them from her seat at their table and without moving her head jammed her fork into her right eyeball. With both arms she twisted and pulled on the fork, extracting the eye. It came away with a squishy, slurpy sound: little dark purple strings broke away from it. The eyelid and socket closed and caved in immediately after it was gone.

Blakox and Crusher watched in horrified fascination as she laid the eyeball on her salad plate. Then she daintily picked up her knife and prepared to slice it.

She paused, looking at the knife critically with her remaining eye and then laid the fork down. She opened her mouth and proceeded to sharpen the knife on her small, yellowish lower teeth. The edge of the knife make a horrible grinding noise as she sawed it back and forth.

While she did this, the eyeball, apparently gaining some life of its own wiggled and furiously worked its way off of the fork. It flopped onto the lighted tabletop with a little squeaky noise. The eye turned this way and that, as if looking for an escape. Ensign Crusher nervously sat back in his chair when it looked his way. Having lunch with Ensign Ikainet had definitely been a big mistake.

Ikainet finished her knife sharpening, picked up the fork and skewered the eye again. Laying it back on the salad plate, she prepare to carve it up.

Guinan interrupted just as the knife was descending on the squealing eyeball.

"We generally don't have people eating themselves here in Ten Forward," she instructed in a firm but friendly voice.

"Ooh!" Ikainet exclaimed, lowering the knife.

"I think she's right," Blakox told her. "It's not very conducive to good eating." Several people had left the tables around them. "But I suppose you did make your point," he noted with satisfaction. The table where Lieutenant Monroe had been sitting was now empty.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Burnt umber, naples yellow, ultramarine blue. Picard squeezed small blobs of each onto separate corners of his palette. Yellow ocher, mauve, English red. He glanced at Ensign Boris Yin, the model, and added a squirt of cadmium red, medium.

He hadn't painted in some time and he'd had to drop something else from his schedule to make room for it. He hated taking up an activity and then fickly neglecting it. If he was going to do something, he wanted to be serious about it, or at least carry it to some resolute termination. And he didn't think he was quite finished with painting.

The door to the room opened. Wearing a white coverall, Ensign Ikainet marched in carrying paints and palette and brushes. Picard tensed and then forced himself to relax, determined to not let her presence distract him. Ikainet scanned the whole room and then stomped over to an easel behind him. The captain heard her clattering and arranging her things, but he did not turn to look at her.

The rest of the art students arrived. The painting session wasn't an actual formal class, just a scheduled gathering. Ensign Yin, who had an extensive background in classical and modern painting techniques, was the closest thing to an instructor that they had, but he would only be supplying advice upon request when he wasn't posing.

Yin took his place on the platform, disrobed and assumed a Michelangelo-esque posture, but his eyes were conveniently pointed toward a chronometer at the far end of the room so he could pace himself to twenty minutes at a time.

Picard drew a rough outline of Yin and the draped boxes around him. The woman to Picard's left immediately filled her canvas with colored shapes and then began painting in details. The captain kept his eyes forward, on his own work and away from the obvious skill and speed being wielded by his neighbor. Paint slapped onto the canvas behind him. Picard couldn't imagine what form Ikainet's picture would be taking, but she was clearly going about it as noisily as possible. He recalled Captain Tzaki's words about Ikainet's ability to come up with an infinite number of irritating activities.

The class proceeded in relative silence. Yin took his first break, put his robe on and strolled about, politely viewing the art. He offered no comment, except for a smile and a nod toward Picard's painting. But when he stepped back to see Ikainet's interpretation the captain saw him blanch, his eyes widening before he quickly moved on. Ikainet was in the back of the room, so no one else could see her work and no one else went to look. Yin resumed his pose and Picard went back to methodically filling in his outlines, going left to right on the canvas.

Halfway through the second session, the door whooshed open and Lieutenant Commander Data entered. After spotting Picard he quietly went to him and reported that a representative of the Caroomadi government would speak with him tomorrow about the _Enterprise_'s inquiries into the possible source of the difficulties with the Roocaroom.

"Interesting," Data commented toward Picard's canvas after he'd finished with ship's business. Picard did not ask him to elaborate. Data's artistic analyses were painfully thorough and honest and while he knew that they were sincere and intended to be enlightening, the captain just wasn't in the mood for it. Data moved on to silently appraise the work of the other students. He stopped when he got to Ensign Ikainet's work.

"You did not paint the model," the android finally stated, cocking his head several different ways.

"Is it...required?" Ikainet inquired breathily. Data shrugged.

"No, I suppose not. But this is highly...unusual." Somebody's curiosity got the better of them and Picard heard someone get up to go take a look at the H'car's art. There was a strangled, unintelligible sound of exclamation. And then a few more people got up to have a look, with similar sounding reactions.

Picard's brush had stopped moving and he realized that he was going to have to get up and look at it himself. Yin was starting to twitch.

The captain put his palette down and went over to where most of the class had gathered. Sheepishly looking down at their feet, everyone quickly edged aside for him.

Picard stared at the canvas. Then at Ikainet. Then back at her picture. Ikainet's white coveralls were now covered with splotches of pigment. A white streak marked the dark purple-brown skin on her cheek. She'd even gotten yellow and orange specks in her purple hair and a yellow splatter on one of her huge, oversized eyeballs that she hadn't bothered to wipe off. Everyone else, except Mr. Data and Ikainet, looked away, even backing up a pace or two as if the immediate area had suddenly become hazardous.

There on the canvas, as could be seen from Ikainet's seat behind him, in a beautifully photographic style, the background meticulously detailed, was a perfect rendition of the back of Captain Picard's head.

His jaw tightened. How _dare_ she! His eyes returned to the Calo.

"You find this funny, Ensign?" he demanded in a low tone.

"Funny?" she gasped out in return, with a large-eyed expression of mild concern.

"Yes, funny, Ensign," he shot back, his voice rising. "I suppose you thought people might be amused by it." He gestured toward the painting. "Well, I am _not_." He advanced, standing over her. He got no reaction. She didn't back up, or even flinch; she just looked up at him, waiting for him to continue. This fueled his fury. Didn't anything get through to her? _I don't care what you can do, Ensign. You can't buy my pardon by getting rid of Nagilum. That does _not _give you kicense to do anything stupid thing you want._

"Do you imagine, Ensign, that what you did yesterday entitles you to take liberties now?" he asked with contempt.

"Yesterday?" this seemed to puzzle her. All the events of the previous day collected together in one huge mass, along with every fact she knew about Picard, painting and 'funny'.

Picard could see down into her open mouth. Past her teeth it looked like a void. Was it possible that this was just another random, inane act, or a self-centered attempt to prod them into entertaining her? It didn't matter which it might be. If she was supposed to be in Starfleet, and an officer, then he damned well expected her to know when she was annoying people and to avoid doing it.

Utterly silent, everyone else around them shuffled in place, unable to leave lest they attract their captain's attention. The entire room cringed, except Ensign Ikainet. Even Data looked repentant.

"Ensign, you will clean yourself up." Picard didn't believe for a moment that the blobs and drips of paint covering her weren't yet another of her tactics to attract attention to herself. "And then you will report to my ready room on the bridge. Is that clear?"

"Riiiiiiiight."

"And get rid of that." His eyes flicked toward Ikainet's painting.

"Riiiiiiiiiiiiight." She nodded vigorously and picked up her things. With her brushes and paints piled onto her palette which she balanced on her head, she seized the canvas and marched out with it, holding it in front of her at arms length. The paints and brushes on her head stayed perfectly still as she stomped out with her usual heavy step.

Picard watched her leave. Then he went back to his own painting and began cleaning his brushes, dipping them in solvent and wiping them off on a rag. The other people in the room collected their things; brushes, paintings. Yin put his slippers on and wearing his robe left the room carrying his other clothes. Somebody knocked over a jar of solvent. The container bounced and rolled across the floor. Picard didn't look up as several people scurried to clean up the mess. He carefully cleaned each brush, removing all stains of pigment from the ivory bristles. By the time he'd finished, the room had emptied.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Commander Riker sat doing absolutely nothing.

Actually he was serving the last of his duty watch on the bridge, after which he had a date with Shantoya M'Baro. He reclined in the command chair and allowed himself the privilege of a few minutes contemplation. The other officers all around him minded their stations while he idly stared at the whizzing star pattern on the main view screen.

Commander Riker enjoyed his rank. He enjoyed being in charge, but being only second in command left him room to get involved in the tasks he directed. To do some of the real work. Not that the captain didn't. Picard was no more demanding on any of his officers than he was on himself, but he went about it in a detached and formal way, dignified and befitting a captain. Riker knew he would handle his own command in a much more personal fashion whenever he chose to take that step. At the moment, he was in no hurry.

One of the forward turbolifts opened and Picard emerged. Hastily, Riker stood, but Picard didn't even look up at him. He just turned to his right and walked the few steps from the turbolift to his ready room and disappeared. Riker glanced at Worf, shrugged and sat down again.

A moment later, one of the rear turbolifts opened. Riker saw Ensign Ikainet troop down the carpeted ramp to Picard's ready room door. She stood there facing the closed door, her back to him for a few seconds until Picard acknowledged the door chime.

"Commander Riker, report to my ready room."

Riker got up. Upon entering he found Picard seated at his desk, Ikainet standing before him in some approximation of attention. Picard looked angry. Riker smiled professionally.

"Yes, Sir."

"Commander, I don't think that Ensign Ikainet is making satisfactory progress on our plan for solving the Caroomad problem. We're only three days away from her home system and I'm not satisfied we're sufficiently prepared." Riker knew that Data, LaForge and Ikainet, along with a large percentage of the science and engineering departments had already prepared a detailed plan of what they were to do, plus several alternate plans just in case they were needed. "I think Ikainet needs to devote more of her time to our mission. Lieutenant Gillan's team has done some exemplary work in uncovering some of the sources of the problems we've been having communicating with Caro, but there still seems to be a lot more to do. I'm sure Ensign Ikainet here could help. I want her assigned to working double shifts. I want results. I want the Roocaroom project and the Tungaras involvement in it thoroughly investigated before we get there."

Riker nodded. "Yes, Sir."

"You're dismissed Ensign. Wait for Commander Riker outside."

"Yes, Sir," she answered. Ikainet spun around and left.

"Number One, I want her busy all the time," Picard stated as soon as she was gone. "Either working on the Caroomad mission or something else, I don't care which. Captain Tzaki included a long list of things to keep Ensign Ikainet busy in his logs; consult them. I don't want to see her at all until we get to Caro."

For a brief moment Riker considered asking Picard exactly what it was that Ikainet had done this time, but the evil-tempered look in his captain's eyes convinced him that he should check the grapevine later.

"I'll talk to Dr. Blakox and Lieutenant Gillan about rearranging her schedule. And I think Ensign Crusher wanted to do some more elaborate scans on her warp field for his class project."

"Excellent. Make it so." Riker left the ready room. Ikainet stood waiting for him, centered in front of the door to Picard's office. She wore a smile and looking not a bit like a junior ensign who'd just been reprimanded and subjected to her superior's disciplinary action.

"Come on," he said brusquely and led her to the turbolift.

**- - - Part 7 continues . . . **


	12. Chapter 13

**DINNER AT TEN-FORWARD**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 7 continues: ****Night Errors**

It was very late, long past the time when he normally retired. The Captain counted four people lingering in their own private, dark corners in Ten Forward. He crossed from the door to the bar, but he didn't see any movement until he took a seat. Guinan, wearing an indigo tunic and wide oval hat appeared from the shadows.

"Captain." She acknowledged him with a wise smile and a nod.

"Guinan."

"You're here kind of late. Can I get you something? Glass of wine?"

Picard considered it and nodded.

"Quiet night," he commented after sipping the synthe-wine Guinan had brought him.

Guinan agreed. "Especially after you grounded Ensign Ikainet."

He put the glass down on the lighted bar with a distinctive clink. "Don't tell me you miss her?"

The Ten Forward host shrugged and surveyed her dimly-lit, lifeless domain. "Things were a little less interesting tonight, I suppose."

"You find her interesting?"

Guinan thought about it. "She's...different."

Picard picked up his wine glass and harumphed at this assessment. "I could do with fewer 'differences' from her."

"Oh," she replied understandingly. "You think she shouldn't be quite so...different?"

"Yes."

She nodded, averted her eyes to some private thought and smiled. It disturbed him. Guinan was so much older and in many ways wiser than he; he trusted her advice without question. And yet after several days of Ensign Ikainet making a fool of herself in Ten Forward, she seemed hardly bothered by it. Of course, nothing did bother Guinan, he reminded himself. But Guinan seemed almost sympathetic to the ensign.

He sat glowering into his wine glass for a long time, Guinan staying with him. One of the few patrons in the room got up and left, the doors whooshing shut behind him, a seemingly loud noise in the big, silent room. The only other sound in the darkened lounge was the perpetual, subliminal rumble of the starship itself.

He knew that Guinan was very independent-minded; her official status on the _Enterprise_ was as a civilian working for Starfleet. She would _never_ put up with the disciplines and regulations imposed upon the regular ship's crew. The very thought of her in a Starfleet uniform was enough to make him smile. But her lack of respect for authority was flavored with a common sense and wisdom that he respected. Guinan was reliable. He e wasn't too surprised that Guinan was unflustered by Ikainet's antics; she had infinitely more patience than he could ever hope to have.

"Guinan," he finally asked, "what do you really think of Ensign Ikainet?"

She settled her elbows on the bar and shrugged. "Not much, really."

"Guinan..." he said in quiet frustration. He'd asked her a serious question and he'd been hoping for a sage and serious answer.

"I don't think much about her," she answered deadpan. "She doesn't think about us."

"Obviously," he replied sourly.

She smiled back appreciatively at him. "She doesn't think much about anything."

"You mean she just doesn't think," he stated.

"Exactly. At least she doesn't think in any way we can comprehend. She reacts. And that we do understand. That's the level where she communicates with us."

"If she can't think even remotely like us, then she doesn't have any business being in Starfleet."

"Does everybody in Starfleet have to think the same?"

"No, but there are limits. If she thinks so differently from us that she disrupts this ship, she shouldn't be here."

"I see. And you think she shouldn't be in Starfleet, then."

He put his glass down decisively. "No, I don't. She's disruptive and unreliable. Her own personal need to be the center of attention is obviously more important to her than the people around her."

"That assumes that she thinks far enough in advance to compare what she wants with what others want. And she doesn't."

"It doesn't matter whether she's even capable of planning her activities in advance or if she just does them by instinct. The result is the same."

"She annoys you."

"Yes. And she annoys other people. And I and the rest of Starfleet are not here to satisfy her need to annoy people."

"Well, I guess she doesn't annoy Starfleet that much. She's here."

Picard grumbled.

"Somebody must think she can do something besides annoy people," Guinan continued.

"Oh yes," he answered. "She can do a lot. Captain Tzaki told me that while she was on this ship, it was virtually invulnerable." He thought about their almost-encounter with Nagilum the day before. "But if that were the only consideration I'd have Q on the crew."

Guinan made a face at the mention of their old, all-powerful nemesis. "She's not that bad. At least she follows orders."

"True," Picard agreed with her. "She has never disobeyed a direct order. She just finds very inventive ways of interpreting them."

"She thinks differently. In ways that are completely new and unknown to us."

"That isn't any excuse. If she can't perform her duties, work _with_ us, support our mission, she shouldn't be here at all."

"What is our mission?"

"What?" Picard asked, puzzled by the question.

"What is our mission? Why are we here?" Guinan raised her hands to the near empty room. "What are we doing out here in the first place?"

"Our primary mission is to explore the galaxy," he explained carefully. "To discover and learn about new life forms."

"Why?"

"Because we're curious. And because the more we learn about the galaxy around us, the more we learn about ourselves."

"And these new life forms, they're all out there in the galaxy?" Guinan nodded toward the stars in the forward view port. Picard opened his mouth to answer and then he stopped, seeing where her argument was leading. Guinan smiled back at him. "Maybe," she continued, "somebody at Starfleet thinks that we can learn something from Ensign Ikainet." He stared silently back at her, keeping his thoughts to himself. But from his old friend's expression, he could see that they must be readable anyway.

It was fundamentally wrong that Ikainet should be a Starfleet officer at all; he was certain of that. But all the arguments he could think of now seemed petty and hypocritical. So he didn't say anything. "What do you really know about her?" Guinan asked.

"I know her service record," he answered shortly.

"Is that all?"

"I know about the H'cars, their general history on Caro, their capabilities."

"Oh." He didn't like the sound of that "oh". Suddenly he felt horribly under-equipped for this discussion, like he hadn't done the proper background study for a debate. "Do you know anything about Ikainet herself? Why she's in Starfleet? What she did before then?"

"They thought she was a god on Caro. She was the goddess of plenty."

"That's true. Do you know what it was like for her? She hasn't been considered a god there for hundreds of years. She must have been doing something else before she went to the Academy."

"I don't have time to give special treatment to every ensign on this ship. Particularly ones as questionable as Ikainet."

"No," Guinan concurred. "That's true. But she's not just any ensign. She's supposed to help us figure out why other creatures like her are chasing spaceships down around Caro. Creatures, life forms, that have been studied for a long time, but because they're so fundamentally different from us, we still don't know an awful lot about. Shouldn't we still be trying to find out as much as we can about them? Does it matter if one of them happens to be an ensign on your crew?"

Picard didn't answer. He folded his hands before him, covering his mouth, his nose almost resting on his fingers. Somebody in a far corner of the room got up and left, making the dimly lit room even emptier.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Picard took his seat in the command chair. Metal edges and loose cables chafed under his uniform. A nutrient tube dug into his thigh where he sat on it. But he couldn't get up and adjust them. He just couldn't.

None of the Borg implants fit. They were supposed to, but they didn't. All the pieces were wrong, and he couldn't fathom why the Borg enhancements would be so sloppy. He could feel the visual sensor coming off its mount on his head. And he wasn't getting any input from it at all; the instrument was completely dead. Useless.

Riker, sitting next to him, constantly shifted his weight in his seat. It looked as if his implants had been stuck on with glue. Sloppy. He hadn't even bothered to put his arm on. The gleaming metal appendage jutted out from where it was crammed next to him in his seat. A loose component hung from wires in his beard. Why hadn't he shaved? It was embarrassing. If the _Enterprise_ were to be inspected by Starfleet now, his competence as her captain would be severely questioned.

Picard heard someone coming. Doctor Crusher came around and sat in Counselor Troi's usual seat on his left. Her Borg implants were in just as much disarray as Riker's; she smiled sweetly at him. Her red hair hung down from under the metal skull implants onto her bare shoulders. Nutrient tubes and power cables looped around her neck.

And she was topless, with the upper part of her blue-green uniform bunched around the lap of her black pants.

He found it hard not to stare. She'd obviously just peeled off the top portion of her uniform and casually arranged the implants around her bare breasts where she liked, with no thought to functionality.

The only person on the bridge who was even close to being within regulations, Mr Data, sat at the forward Ops station, a single control receiver stuck out of his ear.

Something bounced and thumped. Ensign Ikainet, Borg implants dropping away with each jolt, hopped back and forth across the main view screen like a target in a gallery.

The Borg at the helm turned, its cold electronic eye seeking him out. It operated perfectly, its implants well maintained and functioning. Its pale face frowned at him. It knew that he wasn't connected to the hive mind, nor were any of his crew. It had found him out. It had been inevitable that it would. He had no idea when or how he'd lost the link to the Borg collective consciousness, but gone it was and he had no idea where to find it. A chill ran through him. Now they would put it back.

More Borg appeared. They seized him by the arms and lifted him up out of the command chair. He cried out. _Don't snivel_, he told himself. But he couldn't help it. His cries grew more shrill and desperate. He knew what they were going to do.

A modification cabinet opened and the Borg pressed him into it. He scrabbled to get out as the drawer closed and sealed on him. The loose-fitting implants he wore fell off as he tried to find a way out of the glowing rectangular box. A humming started up. The lights went out.

Picard, frozen in place, stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom, faintly illuminated by a dim blue light panel near the window. He pulled the blanket up around him and closed his eyes. He hadn't had a nightmare about the Borg for more than two months, not since the _Enterprise_ had left McKinley station where the ship had stayed for four weeks of repairs after their encounter with the single, massive Borg ship that had threatened Earth and destroyed thirty-nine Starfleet ships at Wolf 359.

He lay stiffly on his back, warming himself from the chill dream with the reassurance of the reality around him. He threw off the blanket, got up and checked the time. It was 02:14. He went to the lavatory, then washed his hands. He put on a short robe over his even shorter gray pajamas.

He turned the lights up in the main room and went to the sofa under the wide observation port. Staring down between his bare knees, he contemplated picking up the book on the low table in front of him. But he didn't feel like a murder mystery. And he knew that if he had one cup of tea then he'd never get back to sleep.

He rested his head on the back of the sofa, slouching low enough so that the bottom of his knees bumped into the table edge.

The Borg. How long would it be before he could think about them without an icy, tight knot forming in his stomach? Maybe never. He would always be cursed with the memory of their devices drilling into him, making him part of them, mind and body. Forcing him to _be_ a Borg, thinking their thoughts, but somehow still knowing how vile and violated he felt. Picard closed his eyes.

This nightmare had been mild compared to the night terrors he'd experienced when he'd first been recovering from his captivity with the Borg. Full of the illogical oddities that usually inhabited dreams, he might have laughed it off except for the end. With a slovenly Riker and a bare-breasted Beverly Crusher, it had even included Ensign Ikainet. He let his mind prey on this last part-and away from further thoughts of the Borg.

The idea that this H'car had gotten to him enough to plague him in a dream irritated him immensely. It was as if she had invited herself to a privilege she had not earned. Hard as it was for him to not feel that she had cheaply bought her way onto his ship with her abilities as a H'car, he knew it was mere circumstance that had saddled him with her. Knowing that she was safely working away on the Caroomad situation and out of his sight, it was much easier for him to think about her objectively.

Leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, he thought about his discussion with Guinan that evening and about what he _didn't_ know about Ikainet. He'd scanned the essentials of her personnel history in Starfleet and before. He was fully aware of her immense power and that she likely could have been alive in some form long before the time that Humans had even evolved on Earth. But those were only statistics. He'd deliberately avoided looking too deeply into her background to avoid it prejudicing his judgement as her superior officer. But now his lack of knowledge had become a liability.

The captain went to the replicator and ordered tea. To hell with sleep. Barefoot, in his robe and pajamas, he went to his desk and accessed the computer files on the Caroomadi history of the H'cars.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

_...The skies rained fire that cracked the mountains. The gods descended from the sky-roof and burned the land with their power as they shed the sky-fire. They did not know the world of the Caroomadi, so far beneath them we were. They took shapes to learn. In the early times of the gods, it was easy for the people to avoid them and their careless motions. But over time they learned the shapes of the world. A hill, a rock, a tree, a lake might be one of them. The people became fearful of the land, cautious in what they did, wary of the nature around them, lest it reveal itself to be of a careless god. Until they took the form of a Caroomadi. The first was Kuzak Eb..._

_...Thuls begged Cafnek for a favor. The land was dry, the crops were dying, their stores of food were almost gone. Already the children were hungry. If the gods had such power to take shapes, to bring fires from the sky, could they not bring the rain? He pleaded for many days. Cafnek repeated her words back to her. The concerns of mortals were so trivial to the H'car that it took many spans of days for Thuls to make her understand. But when the god finally acted, the air in Tuggathol boiled. Heat and cold came like waves on the sea. The people of the village ran in terror. The ground trembled with the changes. The people fell faint, the wind pulled from their chests. Few survived. But in thrice the time Thuls had taken to make the H'car understand the rains finally came. Cafnek was the first to learn the ways of the air..._

_"...He pointed at Sutro's body and said, 'You will bring her back! I am the priest! I have given you your words! I have given you your thoughts! They are mine! Raise my sister for all to see that I am your true inheritor!' The H'car, Maltod, stopped her narrative. The historian, seated on the bench next to the H'car telling the story, prompted her to continue her telling of the ancient Caroomadi tale._

_"She was really dead. I stood there for four days. Sutha yelled a lot."_

_"So she did not rise from the dead as she did in the legend?" the historian interrupted in a hushed voice._

_"No. But Sutha took her clothes and made himself like her. He looked a lot like Sutro. He unsealed the room and stood before the crowd. They yelled and screamed and fell to the floor..."_

_"...You don't believe these creatures are gods any more than I do!" Zini and Ikainet sat in the debate hall, in high places of honor above the rest of the crowd while the two Caroomadi at their podiums argued under them. The primitive, flat recording showed a great meeting hall, part of a vast temple devoted to the H'cars._

_"They exist on a higher plane than you or I," the woman, the priest of the temple answered. "It is not your place to question them."_

_"How convenient for you," the other Caroomadi challenged, 'that the H'cars should be so mysterious that they would need your kind to administer the wealth of the temple. Perhaps it is time that we asked them what they are..."_

_"...This board of inquiry, while maintaining strong doubts about her abilities to complete her training, find in favor of Cadet Ikainet, and that charges against her to be groundless-" A voice interrupted Admiral Grodek._

_"I cannot believe this! That you would allow-!"_

_"You are out of order, Dr. Mayberry!" Grodek's gavel slammed down again and again over Mayberry's outburst. It was several minutes before order was restored._

_"There are many forms of intelligence, many degrees that vary from life form to life form. We are not in a position to decide the merits of Cadet Ikainet's type of intelligence, nor any other life form in the galaxy-"_

_Mayberry stepped up to the judges table and argued his point. Grodek, Admiral Tutu and Commander Sojis were unmoved. Ikainet sat in her cadet's uniform, her mouth gaping, before the board of inquiry, while her future was decided._

_"She's an idiot, and the charge is outright stupidity, and it is not groundless. She's a walking parrot with a warp field and that's the only asset she has. She hasn't any business being here at all. And if she didn't have that warp field, none of you would rank her above a cockroach in intelligence!" Mayberry persisted. Grodek's gavel slammed down on his words again..._

_"...Captain's log. Stardate: 4235.2. Ensign Ikainet stuffed two whole, roasted chickens in her ears, in the officer's mess today. I have asked her not to consume anything through her ears from now on; I can at least prevent Doctor Hearld from incorporating anything like it into his magic act. But I have no doubt that she will find something else completely new and equally obnoxious to do tomorrow." Tzaki paused for a long sigh._

_"I have examined my log entries for the past five weeks and I have found 257 mentions of Ensign Ikainet's name. I am adding at least two more with this one. I don't even talk about myself that much._

_"I find myself becoming increasingly philosophical about this whole situation. I can see why she was such a trial to the instructors at Starfleet Academy. I am amazed that she did actually graduate. I must conclude that it is her powers that have gotten her this far. It certainly isn't her intelligence; she doesn't have any that we are capable of understanding. She is benign; I am convinced of that and this has also worked in her favor. But she is annoying; she tries her very best to be that. I wonder... Is that the only way she can integrate herself into humanoid society? Is it the only way she can force others to look at her, and not her powers; the same powers that motivate people to tolerate her? What a strange paradox." Tzaki paused again, his hands folded on the desk before him._

_"Our mission to map the Saxir Sector is proceeding on schedule..."_

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Picard yawned and checked the time. It was almost 0430.

He clicked off his terminal and wearily got up. Maybe he would be able to get an hour of sleep before breakfast.

He went to the bedroom and lay down, pulling the blanket up over him. He'd ceased to be annoyed with Ikainet. There wasn't any point. For Ikainet was, after all, a pointless creature.

The Caroomadi had for thousands of years begged favors of their gods and the H'cars had consistantly handed them lemons. The Caroomadi phrase "edge first" had developed from the proverb, "ask the H'car to give you a sword and she will hand it to you blade first." The modern Caroomadi, able to make their own mircles with their technology, finally ceased to look to their ancient gods for either wisdom or benefit; they knew better now. Starfleet on the other hand...

_What the hell is Ikainet doing in Starfleet? What the hell does Starfleet think it's going to get out of her?_ Picard closed his eyes.

**- - - End Part 7**


	13. Chapter 14

**DINNER AT TEN-FORWARD**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 8: ****Deja Glue**

Light flashed and randomly whizzed off into an endless series of interfaces from which new points of light formed like droplets and then zipped off, scattering throughout the infinite lattice.

"Wow," Wesley Crusher breathed, his eyes fixed on the small screen of the subspace scanner. He'd spent the better part of the morning getting the equipment lined up. Two meters away from him, Ensign Ikainet sat on a lab table, her left arm extended outward. Facing her were two huge, flat pallets of sensors mounted on jury-rigged stands. It hadn't been easy getting them to focus in on an area as small as Ikainet's wrist. These two spare sensor arrays were the type normally mounted on the ship's hull.

It had really surprised the young Ensign Crusher that Commander Riker had given him permission do anything this elaborate. but he hadn't questioned his good luck. He'd called on Dr. Ogin in the astrophysics department to arrange things and he'd gotten up early in the morning to start his project. He had to take whatever data he could right away, because it was pretty obvious from the shipwide scuttlebutt, and his own experience, that Captain Picard wasn't going to keep Ensign Ikainet on the ship any longer than he had to.

He brought up another screen. Sundry warp field models of his own appeared as a list a file names. He picked a bubble model for an experiment he was planning to do with the ship's engines at their next extended stop, presuming that he got permission from Lieutenant Commander LaForge and the captain. Dr. Ogin strolled over to look at the screens; the wrinkles and indentations about her violet eyes accentuated her curiosity.

What's that?" Wesley Crusher turned about to find Ensign Ikainet, her arm still perfectly motionless, looking at his display. Her head was turned almost completely around in a somewhat unnatural fashion. The teenager gulped, an expression that made him look even younger than he was.

"Uh, it's a warp bubble model. I wanted to compare your warp field with a standard warp bubble."

"They almost got her expelled from the Academy for that," Ikainet said cheerily.

"What?" Crusher asked, puzzled by her odd change of subject and phrasing.

"Blowing warp field bubbles in class."

The two stared back at her, a bit shocked and then looked down at the bubble superimposed over the readings they were getting from Ikainet's warp field.

"Well, don't do it here, either," Ogin instructed calmly but sternly while Wesley nervously checked the safety devices on the scanners.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

"This has all become rather complicated, Captain." The Caro planetary representative, Vornki Josat, paused in his narrative. On Picard's view screen he straightened his pressed and pleated suit of dark blue trimmed with daisy yellow. Nervous as he appeared to be, he did not flinch from the Starfleet captain's gaze.

He'd asked for privacy, so Picard had taken the communication to his ready room desk terminal, though Counselor Troi sat out of the representative's line of sight in the chair opposite the captain. Picard had glimpsed a few other Caroomadi in the background at the beginning of the conversation. He presumed that these select few on Caro listened in as well.

"I appreciate your giving me this information. It might have been even more useful if Starfleet had been told about this earlier," Picard said diplomatically.

Josat's posture stiffened, his pale, purple mustaches seeming to bristle. "Captain, I assure you that we did _not_ know about this before now. Or of the Tungaras University's attempt to cover it up," he answered bluntly, his mouth agape. "And we _do_ appreciate your crew's work in uncovering all of the...administrative difficulties within Tungaras. They are being corrected." Picard hadn't realized it before this communication, but all the Caroomadi he'd seen left their mouths open. It seemed that one of the hallmarks of Ikainet's irritating, stupid expressions was merely a characteristic of the species she imitated.

"Then you will be forwarding _all_ the technical information related to the Tungaras observatory?"

"I believe my staff is relaying the information to your ship right now," the representative assured him. "As much of it as we know at the moment."

"There's more?"

"We don't know." Josat's eyelids closed briefly like shades on a window. His deep blue eyes were even larger than Ikainet's, but Ikainet almost never blinked. "One of the chief perpetrators of this cover-up has...died under questionable circumstances. It was actually that investigation, plus the information that you have forwarded to us, that led us to discover the actual cover-up about Tungaras's activities. But we have our best investigator looking into it," the representative added quickly. "So you can appreciate our desire for discretion."

Picard sighed impatiently. Deanna Troi glanced at him sympathetically, but remained silent. "I assure you Dule Josat," he said, using the representative's official title, "that my sole concern in the Tungaras Observatory is motivated by our common goal of convincing the Roocaroom to vacate your inner system."

"And delivering the last H'car," Josat reminded.

"Of course."

"She doesn't have any explanation for what the Roocaroom are doing, I suppose?"

"None," Picard answered.

This news deflated Josat somewhat, but he didn't seem surprised. "Of course. I will communicate to you directly when we have more information. I look forward to your arrival in two days, Captain."

"I look forward to speaking with you in person, Dule," Picard responded in proper Caroomadi diplomatic form; he terminated the communication. He sat wearily back in his chair, straightened his uniform tunic and turned back to Troi. He hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, and his morning was already going badly.

"Wonderful," he commented sarcastically.

"Well, at least we have an explanation for why all this happened," Troi answered lightly, trying to look on the bright side.

"Oh, yes. But we could have used this information a long time ago. This thing started weeks ago, Counselor. And now we find at nearly the last minute that the Caroomadi quite probably caused their own problem."

"It wasn't the planetary government that initiated the cover-up."

"No, but I find it entirely likely that they weren't too eager to discover the real cause of the Roocaroom situation and were just hoping that we'd come in and solve it for them without delving too deeply into the origins." He sat forward in his seat, elbows on the desk's tinted glass top. "They've only taken action after it was blatantly obvious that we weren't getting much cooperation out of Tungaras."

"Do you think that the Tungaras scientists caused all this?"

Picard shrugged. "Probably When they tapped into the Roocaroom's plasma energy, they must have initiated some kind of response."

"But why would all the Roocaroom start behaving strangely if Tungaras only did it to one of them."

"No telling. But the Roocaroom do communicate with each other, and Caroomadi unmanned satellites recorded a drastic increase in their activities that coincided with the Tungaras 'experiment.' " He sat back, disgusted. "This whole mess caused all because of politics."

This statement puzzled the Counselor. "I don't understand."

Picard, more familiar with the technical details, had read more from Josat's explanation than she had. "The Tungaras Observatory and University have been Caro's primary facilities for studying the Roocaroom and the H'cars for hundreds of years. Yet, in the five years that Ikainet was at the Academy, the scientists there were able to determine twice as much information about her nature as the Caroomadi scientists have found out in the past two hundred years. And from Lieutenant Gillan and Ensign Redhawk's report of how they've been running their affairs, I'm not surprised. Because of Starfleet Academy's successes in studying Ikainet, the Caroomadi government has recently decided to contract the Observatory over to Starfleet."

"Why would that cause this?"

"Because," Picard rose from his seat. He tugged his uniform tunic into place and circled the desk as he spoke, "instead of simply transferring control over to Starfleet, the Caroomadi government, to save face, simply formally withdrew their support. With no supplies, the scientists there would have been forced to vacate, and for all appearances, the Caroomadi government would have just been inviting Starfleet in to fill in the empty space. Instead, Tungaras looked for an alternative."

"That's why they wanted the energy from the Roocaroom-to keep going," Troi realized.

"That's right. With an unlimited energy source they could stay indefinitely, or until the Caroomadi government publicly admitted that they were replacing the planet's own scientists on the project to study Caro's ancient gods."

"The H'cars aren't considered gods on Caro anymore."

Picard stopped, his back to the counselor.

He seemed thoughtful to her, as he stood in the middle of his efficient, tan-hued office. "No, they're not. But a great deal of Caroomadi culture is tied to them. Much more than I'd realized," he admitted quietly. He faced Troi again and then went to sit on the sofa next to the wall. Troi got up and sat down next to him.

"I was reading the legends of the H'cars last night. Did you know that there's a great deal of history associated with them? Borsli, Cafnek, Zini the Strong, Ikainet," he listed some of the names he remembered from the stories. "Do you know what Ikainet means?"

Troi shook her head.

"Flower of the stars. She was the goddess of plenty. The ancient Caroomadi assigned their gods different duties. Ensign Ikainet got the harvest and the hearth. As a result, it seems that her most common reaction to things is to throw food at them. At least that's what Captain Tzaki had concluded. I suppose that might account for her exploits in Ten Forward.

"After the religion collapsed, when it was revealed that they didn't have absolute power over the universe, the entire resources of that whole religion...were turned into a catering service." He glanced at Troi with a grimly amused expression. "Ikainet went from legend to cook almost overnight. Apparently her culinary credentials are quite exceptional."

Troi nodded. She had read most of the major reports from Ikainet's Starfleet personnel records and psychological profile. Ikainet's tendency to associate many things around her with food was prominently noted in her file. Her graduating thesis in xeno-sociology was entitled, "The Comparative Consumptive Sociology of Seven Humanoid Species and Their Effects Upon Varying Degrees of Societal Isolationism". It was stupendously long and dull and made just barely readable by containing many, many illustrations, tables and recipes.

Picard pursed his lips. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and Troi caught him suppressing a yawn. She doubted he would ever admit it, or appreciate her telling him, but the wrinkles under his eyes tended to be noticeably more pronounced when he hadn't gotten enough sleep. They were quite noticeable this morning.

"You've been reading about the H'cars."

"Hmmmm." The captain looked up at her. "Yes," he answered, distracted by his own contemplations. Should he mention the nightmare about the Borg? During his recovery from the Borg incident, he'd told Counselor Troi private things that he'd never have imagined he could say to another being. The word for it was "therapy", and he hated it. The fact that he'd so desperately needed it then bit deeply into his sense of independence. He was recovered now, he thought to himself. It had only been one bad dream after all. Maybe he was inflating its importance.

He swallowed his reluctance. It wasn't just the dream that was bothering him.

Troi waited. The man sitting next to her on the sofa emanated with conflicting thoughts. Dread, annoyance, anger, indecision. Indecision was very, very rare to sense in Jean-Luc Picard. She didn't say anything, didn't move as he stared down at the floor before him.

"Counselor," he began, his aura of indecision evaporating. "You know of our near encounter with Nagilum?"

"Of course."

"Captain Tzaki told me that while Ensign Ikainet was aboard the _Enterprise_ the ship was invulnerable to almost anything." Picard paused, then started again.

"What I'm about to say is strictly confidential to Starfleet." Troi nodded. "When Ensign Ikainet first graduated from the Academy, she was assigned to Starfleet Intelligence." He took a breath. "To be evaluated as a possible defense against the Borg."

The uncertainty, the dread and anger that Troi felt radiating from him suddenly came into focus. "I see."

"She was evaluated by Commander Shelby," Picard said. Shelby had been working with the _Enterprise_ crew on the Borg situation when he'd been captured.

"How did she do?" Troi asked after a long pause.

He smiled, a sad, humorless smile. "With certain...limitations, not too bad, actually."

"Limitations?"

"Ensign Ikainet has almost no ability to adapt to unexpected situations, while the Borg are highly adaptable. The strategists estimated that it would take the Borg about six minutes to figure out she can't go any faster than warp three, and once they knew that, they could simply avoid her." He shrugged.

"There's no physical reason why she can't go any faster than that. She has plenty of energy. Starfleet thinks it's just that she doesn't know how. They almost blew up a ship trying to show her. They gave it up after that."

"But she could fight the Borg," Troi prompted.

"Shelby estimated that she could consume the entire mass of a Borg ship in seventy-two seconds," Picard said, still staring straight ahead of him, across the carpeted room to the stars beyond the vertical view port behind his desk. He then glanced toward her. "I can assure you Counselor, that even the Borg couldn't adapt to that."

There was a long silence.

"And then she was assigned to the _Beawolf_," Troi stated.

"Yes." Picard nodded. "They couldn't put her on a planet, because then that would be the only place that she could defend. And then her status would have devolved into the political question of which planet to pick. Earth? Vulcan? Betazed? And if the Borg came with more than one ship, her effectiveness would be extremely limited without a ship to carry her. The _Beawolf_ is a very fast ship, Counselor. And Tzaki was deliberately assigned to a sector that Starfleet estimated would be the most likely to see a Borg incursion first." His voice dropped to near a whisper. "They were wrong. The _Beawolf_ was still four days away from Wolf 359 when the Borg came."

"I see." Troi lowered her eyes, and then looked directly at him. "And you're wondering if perhaps it might be...useful for Ensign Ikainet to stay on the _Enterprise_." Troi zeroed in on what Picard had been pondering.

"That had...occurred to me."

"How do you feel about that?"

"Counselor, I am repelled by her," he stated, his voice growing stronger with each word. "I don't like seeing her. If she walks into the room, I want to leave. I didn't like her the moment I laid eyes on her. She gave me the impression then that she was a fool and since then she has fulfilled my every expectation on that account."

"I've heard some people compare her to Mr. Data."

Picard had to think a moment for a counter argument. "Mr. Data is socially naive. Ensign Ikainet is aggressively stupid," he finished vehemently.

Troi nodded, sensing the loathing within him. But it was mixed with something else. "But you're not sure."

Picard looked at her crossly.

"I'm sure I don't like her, Counselor."

"But after you send her back, what if we encounter the Borg again? Would you be throwing away a defense against them? She could prevent them from destroying the _Enterprise._ She could even stop them from capturing you again."

Picard's hands tightened into fists. Then he remembered something he'd said to Guinan the night before.

"I suppose Q could do the same thing. But I wouldn't have Q on my ship, either, if I could help it."

"Q didn't attend the Academy. Q hasn't served on another starship," Troi reminded him. The captain angrily got to his feet and paced. _No, Q won't ever served on a starship. Damned good thing he hasn't. Q isn't interested in "serving", only in his own twisted entertainment. That cancels out any advantage that Q's powers might bring. And Ensign Ikainet? What was she really interested in?_

"I am amazed that Starfleet has put up with her for this long. It simply astounds me that they would continue this farce just to gain her abilities. Is Command so greedy for her powers that they'd be willing to throw away all standards? And now that she's here, it's damned difficult for Starfleet to get rid of her."

"I don't understand."

"Counselor, Ensign Ikainet has the only biologically generated warp field in Starfleet. Aside from being an ensign and having a valid shuttle pilot's license, she is also a licensed single-passenger spacecraft herself. She has her own serial number. UFPS-9502. If she quits Starfleet, or is thrown out, she could and probably would roam around the Federation on her own. And there wouldn't be a damn thing we could do to stop her." Troi felt resolve solidifying within him as he spoke. Days of thoughts and confusion coalesced into coherence, like leaves in a whirlwind being collected into a single form.

"Then you think that is why she is still in Starfleet?"

"Yes." He faced her. "Tzaki and Ikainet's advisors at the Academy seem to have a limitless supply of patience for her antics. Well I don't." Troi weighed Picard's judgement on the H'car against the reports of Ikainet's advisors and the logs of Captain Tzaki; it hadn't been just her superiors' endurance to her behavior that allowed Ikainet to remain in Starfleet. Troi got up from the sofa.

"If we had discovered Ikainet as a new life form how would you respond to her?"

The severity of Picard's expressions and his thoughts did not change. "It's not the same, Counselor." He looked away and paced again. "Guinan thinks that we might learn something from her," he scoffed. "And that may be true," he acknowledged. "But there are better places to do that than on active duty on a starship, where I or any other captain she serves under not only has to deal with the uncertainties out there, but with one right on board."

"You don't trust her."

"It isn't a matter of trust." He stepped towards her as if to draw her into his viewpoint. She felt his intense desire to make her see his side of the discussion pull on her. "I expect everyone on my crew to give me their best performance. And in an emergency situation, I demand it. Because all of our lives could depend on it.

"I don't know what Ensign Ikainet's 'best performance' is. I don't even know if she has one. She exists. She operates on instinct. What happens when she encounters something powerful enough to be dangerous to her? And it's bound to happen, Counselor. I've seen too much to doubt that it _will_ happen to her someday. Will she just leave us all hanging as soon as the right pressure is applied to her? What if it hadn't been so easy for her to deflect Nagilum two days ago? Would she have run away from it? Protected herself? Would she have even thought about us or the ship? Can she?"

Troi didn't answer any of his questions. He was right. Ensign Ikainet had never been severely tested. Everything was easy for her and they had no idea how she would react to a real challenge or threat.

"I don't have answers to those questions. I doubt that anyone can answer them." He looked down at her, his rage momentarily spent.

"I'm sorry for haranguing you like that, Counselor."

"That's what I'm here for," she reminded. He gave her a small smile.

"I honestly don't think she should be in Starfleet. Even putting aside my personal dislike for her, she has the potential for being a genuine threat in the wrong situation. And I don't think that the benefits of having her here are worth the risks."

"Command must think that the benefits do outweigh the risks," she told him, but her voice didn't sound all that certain.

"I hope they're right," he said quietly.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Ensign Ikainet squirted generous blobs of clear gel onto each delicately formed wooden part lined up in front of her. The main body of the _HMS Bounty_ stood proudly and half-finished in its stand on her left. Printed instruction sheets littered the floor around her chair. She'd just tossed them aside after looking at each one.

Ikainet had not the slightest idea of what she would do with the finished ship. That didn't really matter to her. The building of the model was just part of a sequence of events initiated that morning by Counselor Troi's suggestion of a hobby. The activity suited the H'car as well as any. Her hobby was existing.

The door chimed.

"Come in!" Ikainet called, looking up from the project.

Counselor Deanna Troi entered and came over to the ensign's table. Her idea seemed to be working well. When Commander Riker had been assigned the task of keeping the ensign busy and effectively out of the captain's way, he'd naturally come to her for ideas. Troi had initially suggested the holodeck, one of the _Enterprise_'s most popular off-duty places. Riker had vetoed that idea; Ikainet's warp field would set off all the failsafes in the holodeck, the technology being too similar to that of the transporter, from which Ikainet was also barred. Troi had then suggested the model ship. Ikainet had been busy with it, and out of sight, for over two hours.

The model ship building was last year's fad on the _Enterprise_. At one time it had been all the rage with dozens of people putting them together. The hobby had been further spurred on by Captain Picard's open admiration for Commander LaForge's _HMS Victory_ that he'd had set up in Engineering for a short time. Troi had even heard that Worf had made a model attempt, though she'd never heard that he'd ever finished it.

But people had lost interest fast and the ship craze was replaced by Tai Chi and other similar meditative martial disciplines. After all that work, Troi had never seen any of the finished sea ships displayed in anyone's quarters, even LaForge's. Putting together a model ship could be tedious, and most importantly, take lots of time to complete. A perfect off-duty activity for Ikainet.

"How's it going?" she asked cheerfully.

"I finished this part." She pointed at the ship body.

"I see that." She surveyed the wreckage. The H'car's work wasn't very tidy. Bits of ship and globs of glue were everywhere on the table, but Ikainet obviously knew where everything was as she stuck bits of deck and rigging on to the model.

Feeling somewhat pleased by her success, Troi glanced about the room. They were very standard quarters. Being a junior ensign, she had a cabin in the interior of the ship, with no view port. Since she was officially on temporary duty to the _Enterprise_, she hadn't been assigned a roommate. The walls of the cabin were off-white and curved in places, the furniture a standard issue neutral blue sofa and chairs. A doorway led to a bedroom area, though Troi doubted that Ikainet used it for anything since she didn't need to sleep. There was an odd collection of things on the other tables and the desk. Jars, small pictures, oddly shaped metal things. Presumably these were Ikainet's personal possessions. The plants in the room were dead, brown dried things standing up out of pots of hardened soil. And the walls were bare except for Ikainet's painting of the back of Captain Picard's head, which hung over the sofa. Troi wondered where she'd learned to paint, and more importantly, how she'd learned.

Troi asked the H'car why she'd painted that picture. As usual, Ikainet hadn't thought about how Picard would react, or even whether or not he might see her art work. When the ensign had sat down at her easel she'd blithely painted the most interesting thing in front of her. Troi found it an extremely intriguing choice and it fit in exactly with her psychological profile. Her painting had been subconsciously chosen to get the most reaction from the people around her. Ikainet didn't distinguish between an angry or a happy response; she was after quantity.

Troi walked over to what might have been a giant fern at one time. She asked the H'car why she had dead plants in her quarters.

"So people will ask about them," she announced as she attached a piece of the _Bounty_'s bow. Troi wandered on and asked about some of the other things in the room; Ikainet cheerfully answered her queries. Nearly all of the ensign's possessions were things she'd been given. Mementos from the Academy, gifts from friends and cooking utensils. There were even relics left over from Ikainet's time as a god of Caro. Troi looked down admiringly at a 4,000 year old ceremonial chalice and, thinking of the captain's hobby of archaeology, she wondered what Picard would say about it.

She returned to Ikainet's table. The ensign had attached a few more pieces, but it looked like she wouldn't finish for many hours, and since she was working double duty shifts, it could take her days to finish this off-duty project. Troi delicately wiped at what appeared to be a dried drop of glue, but it felt wet to the touch. It seemed to suck at her fingertip. And it didn't let go. She tried to pull her hand away. The glue mercilessly tugged on her flesh.

"What is this?" Troi asked, her voice betraying a trace of panic.

Ikainet picked up the bottle and read a long chemical name from the label on its side. "It forms a molecular bond on contact. It's used in Engineering for emergency repairs when they can't use a phaser welder," she explained. Then she put the bottle down, her fingertips sticking briefly to it, the adhesive unable to maintain a hold on Ikainet's personal force fields.

"What?"

**- - - Part 8 continues . . . **

end part 13


	14. Chapter 15

**DINNER AT TEN-FORWARD**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 8 continues: ****Deja Glue**

Counselor Troi was late. Commander Riker checked the time. She was definitely 14 minutes late for their meeting. He checked the computer.

"Counselor Troi is in Ensign Ikainet's quarters." Riker called her.

"Uh, I'm a little busy," she answered hesitantly. He heard what sounded like other people.

"Is something wrong?"

"Uh, not exactly. Ow!"

"Deanna? What's going on?"

"We're having a little difficulty, Commander. " Doctor Crusher's voice came over the comlink.

"What's happened?" he demanded, now concerned.

"Ensign Ikainet accidentally glued Counselor Troi to a table with a molecular adhesive. We're getting her out of it now."

"I'm on my way." Riker headed for the door.

"You didn't have to tell him," Troi told the chief medical officer, annoyed.

"He was going to find out anyway," Crusher said matter-of-factly as she watched the Engineering tech carefully carve away a small portion of the table. A second technician similarly freed Crusher's assistant, who had unknowingly got her elbow stuck before the doctor had ordered Ikainet to clean up every drop of the glue. The ensign had scurried about picking up model pieces and randomly sticking them onto the model body. Other model pieces covered up the loose blobs on the table: tiny wooden planks, sail material, a miniature cannon. Once the contact bond was activated the glue was harmless.

Commander Riker entered just as Troi and Nurse Ogawa were freed.

"Ensign, what happened?" he demanded.

"They got stuck!" she replied, her big indigo eyes wide.

"I can see that. Why were you using a molecular bond adhesive?"

Her head tilted in a jarring fashion.

"I used it." She pointed at her work. It was the worst model ship Riker had ever seen. The hull was fine, but the masts were crooked and in the wrong places and pieces stuck out at odd places all over it. "Putting the model together."

"Where did you get it from?" Riker demanded.

"I got it from the replicator."

"You got it from the replicator?" he repeated, astounded that it had given her something so obviously dangerous.

"She just asked for the strongest glue available," Troi amended, holding the hand that still had a piece of table attached to her fingertips. The remaining bit would have to be removed in Sickbay. Riker couldn't resist casting a smirk toward the counselor. He'd expressed his doubts when she'd suggested the ship-building and now it appeared that he'd been right.

Riker spotted the glue bottle sitting amongst the other junk on the table. "And she got that from the replicator?" he asked, still disbelieving.

"It's actually very safe," Crusher told him. "It's not toxic; it bonds on contact and becomes inert too quickly to be absorbed into the bloodstream and it doesn't have any fumes. It normally comes with a safety dispenser, but since it doesn't stick to Ensign Ikainet, she took it off and used it quite liberally." Crusher indicated the table, covered with model parts.

Riker picked up the bottle. At once he realized he'd made a big mistake. The bottle, of course, was made out of a substance that the glue would not adhere to. His hand, unfortunately, was not. And neither was the label on the bottle where his hand was now attached.

"Ensign..." he growled.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Blakox picked up a pottery shard and delicately positioned it above the others. The restraining field holding the fragments in place made the air around them feel thickened to his fingers. The pieces formed 30% of a holographic image of the theoretically complete vase. The real, solid parts of it looked like the land masses of continents on a globe. He'd already scanned all the pieces and, with computer-guided force fields, assembled it, but experience had taught him to hand check some variations on the model before he cast the duplicate piece in the replicator.

"Verolian pottery," a familiar voice said. Surprised, Blakox looked up to find Captain Picard, in his red and black command uniform, standing right in front of his desk. Word was that Picard had a very quiet step, occasionally giving people the impression that the captain had intentionally crept up on them, but Blakox had never experienced the phenomenon before.

"Uh, yes." Blakox straightened his uniform, regaining his composure. "I picked it up on Rigel from a colleague," he finished non-specifically. Picard was well known to be an archaeology hobbyist and Blakox had always avoided getting into any history discussions-indeed any discussions at all-with his captain. Blakox _loathed_ amateurs, no matter how well educated.

Picard silently eyed Dr. Blakox's work, his posture evidence that the captain had noted the lieutenant's disdain for his archaeological interest. Command line officer or not, even Blakox had to admit that Picard was not stupid. But Blakox wouldn't retreat from his private beliefs. He'd encountered too much damage and vandalism in archaeology from well meaning amateurs. He'd let Picard know this the first time he'd run afoul of the captain's hobby. Apparently Picard respected his opinion; the captain had hardly ever bothered him since then.

"Have a seat," Blakox invited politely.

"No thank you. I won't be staying long."

_You couldn't possibly stand to have your head lower than mine either, I suppose,_ Blakox thought uncharitably.

"I merely wanted to ask how Ensign Ikainet was getting along here." Picard said.

Blakox shrugged. "Fine I suppose. She does her work. She works long hours. She answers questions when you ask them."

"You haven't had any problems, then?"

"Not really. Other than that she's as dumb as a bar of soap, she hasn't been any trouble at all." Blakox estimated that it was safe for him to insult Ikainet to Picard. He was right; Picard simply nodded thoughtfully.

_She's really getting to you, isn't she?_ Blakox smiled to himself, a serene and subtlety exultant expression. _She's really got to you. Tell me, Captain, what does it feel like to have a junior ensign who not only doesn't cringe when you give her the Evil Eye, but who isn't even capable of noticing. Must be just _awful_ for you_, Blakox thought with mock sympathy.

"Carry on," Picard said. He turned, left the office area and went over to Ensign Ikainet's corner workstation.

The other ensign at the workstation next to Ikainet glanced back behind her and nervously looked away when she saw her captain. She shut down her work and left, sparing Picard the trouble of asking her to leave. Everyone else in that end of the sociology lab silently found other places to go to.

Ikainet continued at her screens, glowing text and pictures whizzing by at fantastic speeds over her head, her fingers lightly tapping the controls. Picard recognized some of the data. According to Blakox's reports, Ikainet had done a superb job of clearing up the _Enterprise_ sensor backlog, the one bright spot in her performance record.

Picard didn't believe for a minute that she didn't know he was there. Her senses, honed over thousands of years of imitating humanoid form, were far better than Data's. Her "eyes" could "see" more bands of radiation that Lieutenant Commander LaForge's VISOR. Picard doubted that he could be more aware of his surroundings with a tricorder than Ensign Ikainet was of hers.

"Ensign," he finally addressed her.

"Yeeeeeesss!" All the work at her station froze and she whirled around in her chair to face him.

He approached and stood over her as he spoke.

"Ensign, in spite of what happened last night, in spite of my disciplinary actions against you, you continue to find ways of making mischief." He'd just come from speaking with a rightfully embarrassed Commander Riker and an irritatingly amused Doctor Crusher about the glue incident with Counselor Troi. "Why?" he demanded.

Every minute detail of the incidents Picard referred to, every detail about Picard, and every detail about every disciplinary action that had ever been taken against her, jostled inside Ikainet's mind. But the captain's question just wasn't specific enough to single out a reply from the morass of information, so a standard technique emerged from her.

"Mischief?" she repeated.

"Don't play innocent with me, Ensign. You know what I'm talking about. I've already put you on report once, I've assigned you to two duty shifts to try to keep you out of trouble, yet this morning you found time enough to glue Counselor Troi to a table. Why?"

"Counselor Troi. She got stuck. The molecular adhesive bonded to her skin when she touched the table."

"Only after you put it there, dammit!"

Picard's voice rose loud enough to drive the few remaining people at the other end of the lab out. Only Blakox remained, silently arranging the pottery shards at his desk around the corner from Ikainet's station. Ikainet was still his immediate subordinate. And if Picard was to discipline her again, then he was entitled hear it. And the Iotian refused to be driven away from his work and his own lab by his captain.

"Ensign." He towered over her. "I want this to stop. I don't care what you were allowed to get away with on the _Beawolf_, while you're on this ship it won't be tolerated. Is that understood?" She nodded vigorously.

He glowered down at her gaping, happy smile. He knew he wasn't getting through. He knew that the next chance she had to glue somebody to a table or stuff croutons up her nose, she would take it, no matter how severely he reprimanded her. Was she capable at all of thinking in advance?

"No, Ensign," he told her. "I don't think you do understand." He pulled out the chair at the vacated station next to her and sat down. He hadn't ever really talked to Ensign Ikainet since she'd arrived. He hadn't expected to need to. Maybe it was time he should. Junior ensign or not, she was a focal point of their mission to Caro.

"Ensign, I've been reading about the H'cars on Caro. I've been trying to understand about you and your..." he almost used the word "people", but the H'cars or the Roocaroom didn't form a society. They were just an unusual species. "...the other H'cars and how they...lived on Caro," he said, in his "soft approach" voice that he sometimes used for difficult disciplinary cases. "I want to understand, Ensign," he told her sincerely. "But these constant distractions of yours make it very difficult."

"Difficult?"

"Yes," he answered in a harsher tone. She benignly looked back at him with her big eyes and her open-mouthed smile.

"Ensign," he started again, more genially. "For the sake of this mission, could we agree for you to not behave in your usual fashion?" Picard's request mated with similar Starfleet memories in her past brought forth a reply.

"You want me to stop doing the things I do."

"Yes."

"I don't know how."

Picard frowned. "Are you telling me that you can't control your behavior, Ensign?"

"Nooooooooo."

"Then I don't see why it should be a problem for you to moderate your actions in the future."

"You ask me. Now. Do this. Things come. Later. Not. Now." She held her arms up and jammed her fingers together. "Not the same. Your words. My doing. They aren't the same thing."

Single words. Picard remembered what Tzaki had said about Ikainet, that when she used single words she was forming her own sentences. Was he getting through after all?

"So, my asking you to not do something later doesn't mean anything later," he said.

"You learn things by doing them and associating them with other things you've done. If I ask you to do something, or not do something, and my request isn't specific enough, it won't mean anything to you when I expect you to act on it."

It took Picard a few seconds to decipher her answer and realize that the you's and I's in her statement should have been switched. She was using words that someone else had said to her. But her choice of that statement told him that she _did_ understand, in some way, what he wanted from her.

"Ensign, you do modify your future behavior. You do follow Starfleet regulations."

"Starfleet regulations are very specific. Sir."

She was right. Starfleet regulations were volumes and volumes of tedious verbiage that had evolved over a hundred and fifty years of Starfleet bureaucracy.

"So, you're saying that if I want you to not do certain things, I have to spell out exactly what I don't want you to do for every possible situation?"

"Riiiiiiight!" She leaned forward in her seat.

Picard was reminded of what Tzaki had said about Ensign Ikainet trying to discover and do every annoying thing that didn't violate regulations. But why did she have to do annoying things at all? He did not believe that she couldn't see that she annoyed people.

"Why do you have to do what you do in the first place? It won't make people like you any more. I'm sure you do care in some way if people like you; you wouldn't be here with us if you didn't."

"Actions are the words of the H'cars." She quoted a translation of a post-industrial Caroomadi philosopher. "The actions of the H'cars are formed of what they are, and how they are treated by society. The H'cars are not gods. Treat them like gods, and they will become something else."

"I see." Picard sat back thoughtfully. They sat facing each other in the corner of the sociology lab, the chairs at the other workstations empty. "You don't want anybody to treat you like a god, so you act like a fool."

"Riiiiiight!"

"Nobody's going to treat you like a god in Starfleet, Ensign. Surely you learned that at the Academy."

"When you can do miracles, people treat you different. They ask you for them." She extened her hand to him. "They always have their hand out for something."

"Ensign, you can't do miracles. You can't do a lot of things that people normally credit to a god. You can't bring anybody back to life. You can't control time and space. Even to the ancient Caroomadi, it was clear that your powers were limited. What sort of miracles would they ask from you?"

"Weather!" she answered back breathlessly. "Big holes in the ground. The destruction of the cities of people you don't like."

"You can do that," the captain agreed. _Or destroy Borg ships._

For the moment, Picard felt as if he did understand Ikainet's behavior. He wasn't likely to treat her with deference or go running to her for any favors because of it. It made some sense.

But no. That wasn't any kind of excuse. He'd read profiles of the other H'cars on Caro. Two of them, Zini and Maltod, were only mildly eccentric. Otherwise, they were quite social. They were the H'cars that the Caroomadi government brought out to any high dignitaries or scientists who wanted to meet Caro's gods. The third H'car, Gyaznek's, worst asset was a reputation for loud exclamations. And Warrin, The Imbecile, hardly spoke at all and was considered harmless, except for her talent for appearing in odd places at odd times. They had their own peculiarities, but none of them were as demonstrative as Ikainet.

She stared back at him with her oversized indigo eyes while he silently pondered her condition. He could see his own brooding reflection in them.

Her reputation for spoiling parties and doing tricks with food at banquets on Caro was legendary. Starfleet Academy had curtailed her activities considerably, but she still found ways to play the fool. He was convinced that at least part of her motive for doing so was her desire to be the center of attention. For some reason, the attention and fawning that a god received was unsuitable to her. She preferred the position of village idiot.

Now Picard was convinced that she was definitely _not_ an idiot. And to satisfy her craving for the attention of the people around her, she was behaving far below her level of intelligence; that disgusted him. And, he decided, he wasn't going stand for it any longer.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Ensign Ayla Redhawk finished her sixth call to Caro that morning. Next to her Ensign Wesley Crusher was correlating the warp field technical information. Nearby, Lieutenant Gillan showed Lieutenant Commander Data his organization charts. A dozen other people worked around them.

"This is very curious," Data commented. "All of the administrative functions of the Tungaras observatory project and their Roocaroom research have been centralized through the head administrator's office. This is very inefficient. It forces all research decisions, even small ones, to be routed through that office."

"Yes, Sir." Gillan pointed at another display that showed a chart of the accomplishments of the research organization. "That's probably why they haven't gotten much done. The administrative bottleneck slows everything down. And no matter how hard they try, they can't keep track of everything. There are at least twenty-three projects here that have been stopped and started several times." Data looked where Gillan pointed.

"That is a reasonable assumption. It is puzzling why they would do this." To Gillan, it was obvious that the android had never appreciated the causes and results of academic departmental politics.

"I think, Sir, that if some people in the administrator's office thought that their control over the project was more important than the research itself, that this might be the result."

Data carefully considered this possible motivation and correlated it with what he knew of humanoid behavior. "I believe that could be a correct hypothesis. Captain Picard has informed me that the Tungaras administrators have been removed and their actions are under investigation. The Tungaras auditors should be contacting you presently." Data handed Gillan a data chip. "They have already forwarded valuable information directly to me."

On the other side of the room, Redhawk stared back at her screen; she'd been about to sign off when the scientist she'd been talking to asked her to hold for another person. Now she was staring at a new face with dark mauve skin, large blue eyes and bright lavender hair and mustaches.

"Uh, I don't really know much about the H'car's warp fields." She caught Wesley Crusher's attention.

"I'm not very good with it myself," the Caroomadi responded sympathetically. "But it seems to be integral to my investigation, though I am uncertain as to how. Is there someone there who knows something about it?" Redhawk inclined her head toward Crusher next to her, inviting him to speak to this new person. She got up out of her seat and let him sit down. The Caroomadi seemed surprised by the young ensign.

"Pardon me, but...are you not considered young for your species?" the Caroomadi asked. Crusher sighed and tried not to look annoyed by the question. He was nineteen, after all.

"Yes, Sir." The Caroomadi lowered her eyes as if distracted by a stray thought.

"Just curious, Ensign...?"

"Wesley Crusher."

"You are familiar with the warp field of the H'cars?"

"Yes, Sir."

"What is special about them?"

"The H'cars?" Crusher asked.

"Their warp field. What is special about their warp field?"

"Um, uh, a lot. Uh, can you be more specific?" It was entirely unclear what this person wanted. She responded with a few inarticulate technical questions. It was obvious that she was quoting and asking about things that she didn't really understand. Crusher tried to answer in as simple terms as possible, as if he were trying to explain it to his mother (if for some odd reason she ever wanted him to tell her about warp field theory).

"This does not help my immediate needs," the Caroomadi said after several minutes. "But you have been of more assistance to me than the best scientists on Caro have been. You have told me about much more than just a H'car's warp field. May I contact you in the future?"

"I'll have to check with my commanding officers," he told her.

"Of course, of course. They may contact me directly if they wish. I will certainly be speaking with them. I am Zor Bitarl. I am the chief investigator of the Tungaras University murders."

"Murders?" Wesley breathed, taken aback.

"Yes, Wesley Crusher," she responded perhaps a little overdramatically. "Murders."

**- - - End Part 8**


	15. Chapter 16

**DINNER AT TEN-FORWARD**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 9: ****Ship in a H'car**

"Captain Picard, we are outside the Caroomad system."

"Thank you Mr. Worf," the Captain responded without moving or taking his eyes off the long-range scan reports on the screen at his desk. "Hold our position. Call Ensign Ikainet to the bridge." Picard finished the _Enterprise_ reports and switched to the synopses of the current data from Caro. He'd already looked at the full texts, but he wanted to review them one more time in case they'd been updated.

There was nothing new in them. The Roocaroom had annihilated the larger system satellites, but the smaller ones had gone unnoticed and they provided some information. The Roocaroom were apparently unaware of, or uninterested in smaller energy sources. If the _Enterprise_ became trapped by the Roocaroom, one of their contingency plans was to immediately shut down everything on the ship and "play dead", in hopes that the Roocaroom would lose interest in them. Their first plan, if things went sour, was to run, regroup and try something else. They could easily out-distance the Roocaroom since they, and Ensign Ikainet, were limited to a maximum speed of warp three. At least no one had ever known them to travel any faster than that. Planetside observations scrupulously tracked all the Roocaroom; over two hundred thousand of them cluttered the Caro approaches, lingering in the spaceways like a hungry mob.

The Caroomadi were now giving them all the factual information they could ask for. The change of administration at the Tungaras University had brought a dramatic increase in the level of their cooperation. But they couldn't answer the vital question about _why_ the Roocaroom were doing this in the first place. Several government officials offered their own useless theories. A few physicists honestly admitted that they had no idea what was going on. A radical group declared that the whole disaster was a judgement of the gods; apparently there was still a very small faction on Caro that still thought of the H'cars as gods. The suspended Tungaras administrators and scientists were also making accusations of illegal assumption of authority by the planetary government. On top of all that, there was a murder investigation going on over the untimely deaths within the Tungaras administration. If he hadn't had the Roocaroom problem to deal with Picard might have been curious about the suspected murders, but he'd had more than enough of Caro politics.

Satisfied that he'd reviewed all sources of information, Picard got up from his desk, straightened his uniform and left the ready room.

Data sat at his post at Ops, Wesley Crusher at the helm. Riker immediately vacated the command chair as soon as the captain entered the room and re-seated himself to command's right. Ensign Ikainet sat at command's left. Counselor Troi stood next to Lieutenant Worf on the upper bridge, and Picard knew she must have offered the ensign her usual seat. Picard sat down.

"Are you ready, Ensign?" Picard asked in a business-like voice. Surprisingly enough, she'd managed not to cause any more disasters since the glue incident two days ago. But then, Picard reasoned, assigning her to work all three duty shifts had helped keep her out of trouble.

"Yeeeeeesss," she answered enthusiastically.

"We are at full stop, Sir," Worf reported.

"Warp engines are off-line," LaForge reported from the engineering station behind Worf and Troi. "We're as ready as we'll ever be."

Picard inhaled, crossed his legs and glanced at Riker, who looked unhappy.

"You may proceed, Ensign."

She disappeared. Picard was sitting close enough to feel the gentle rush of air that filled the volume she just vacated. Her communicator dropped to the empty seat.

On the viewscreen, filaments of light zipped inward, forming a circle, the end of a tube taking shape around the ship. Picard felt a low-frequency vibration in his chair and where the sole of the boot touched the floor. He uncrossed his legs, putting both feet on the floor.

Worf and Troi automatically gripped the upper-bridge railing when a second, stronger vibration hit. Data, secure in his seat at Ops, calmly monitored Ikainet's progress. Twenty-two, twenty-three; the clock ticked off the time to the estimated thirty-two seconds for her to finish the transformation. When his instruments confirmed completion, Data reported it back to the captain. The screen showed a holed and mottled gray tube, the end of which opened to the stars. Light and the edge-on shadow of the saucer section on the gray tube they looked down wavered eerily

"I have something very interesting on the rear scanners."

"Put it on the screen Mr. Data."

The view changed to that of a blazingly white inferno just behind the warp nacelles. Picard and Riker stood slowly.

"Energy plasma readings match those recorded previously for Ensign Ikainet." Data scanned the sensor output. He'd programmed the ops station to receive a compilation of all the ship's sensor data at once. As many as twenty-three technicians and sensor specialists could be feeding information to Ops at one time. At the moment there was plenty to keep them all busy.

"Astonishing," Picard almost whispered. He glanced at Data's station and then backwards to LaForge when the engineer let out a long whistle. Riker went to study Data's readings more closely.

"Transformation completed, Sir," LaForge announced. Picard walked back to the engineering station. LaForge pointed to a picture on his board that looked almost exactly like the simulation they'd seen a few days ago. "She's locked onto us all right. Exactly to specs, too." LaForge pointed to the points on the secondary hull and the rear of the saucer section where Ikainet's "tractor beam" grasped the starship.

"Then she's following procedures?"

"To the milimeter, Sir."

Riker, still standing next to Data, put his foot up on the side of the chair, bent forward and in a hushed voice asked, "Data, if we accidentally fell into that," he pointed at the screen, "what would happen to us?"

Data cocked his head and ran though the appropriate calculations before answering. "Even with our shields at maximum, we would be vaporized almost instantly."

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

In the conference room, Lieutenant Worf pressed his argument.

"We do not know why the other Roocaroom have become hostile. Once we enter the Caroomad system, how do we know Ensign Ikainet won't do the same?"

"We are still not certain that the Roocaroom activities have been attacks," Data countered. "Given their natural abilities they are more likely trying to communicate."

"They have destroyed four spaceships and two space stations. That cannot be considered anything but hostile."

"The Roocaroom don't communicate the same way we do," Deanna Troi jumped in. Picard watched the discussion pass back and forth across the conference table and occasionally interjected a question of his own. Their trial run had been completed as planned. Ensign Ikainet, the subject of their argument, had dematerialized from outside the ship and was now waiting on the bridge for her senior officers to pass judgement on her performance.

Even after all that had happened, Picard did not genuinely distrust Ensign Ikainet. He was more worried about her accidentally damaging the ship than out of any malicious intent. Unfortunately, she was the only H'car left; the others had yet to return to Caro, nor could anyone explain what they were doing with the other Roocaroom.

Unhappily, Picard came to the conclusion that they _had_ to rely on Ikainet if they were to solve the Caroomad problem. He announced his decision and succinctly ended the conference.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

"Fifty thousand kilometers...forty thousand...thirty thousand and decelerating," Data read the distances off calmly. His station and others throughout the bridge showed the approach of the over 200,000 Roocaroom that had immediately converged on the starship and H'car together as soon as they'd dropped into Caro's orbital plane. At the engineering station LaForge monitored ship's status, and particularly the contact points between the _Enterprise_ and Ikainet. The ship crept along its impulse-powered approach to Caro (at the rate they were going they would catch up to the planet in its orbit in about five days); Ikainet kept perfect pace with them; the pressure gradients and stresses on the hull were negligible, a phenomenal achievement indeed.

"All stop. On screen," Picard ordered.

At first they saw specks, too large and irregular to be stars. The specks grew elongated and spiny until the screen was covered with a collage of growing Roocaroom. They were gray and white and deep, deep black from the severe shadows cast from Caro's yellow sun. Occasionally one or two of them would flash as they turned, a plasma core's glow visible through the end of an outer trunk.

"We are completely surrounded," Data announced.

"Distance?" Riker asked.

"The Roocaroom have formed a spherical shell approximately eight kilometers in diameter." Data read only the minimum of information from the information streaming across his station. Deep within the starship three teams of sensor specialists, plus a dozen scientists and engineers borrowed from other projects, coordinated an impossible selection of inputs from the ship's sensors and deflectors. At the bridge science station, Lieutenant Mahmood coordinated the different teams' activities. She ignored the command crew's discussion while she concentrated on her task. They'd dropped everything else they'd been working on and spent days figuring out how they were going to deal with sensor output taken through Ensign Ikainet _and_ interpret signals bounced off of thousands of moving Roocaroom. An intricate picture formed and turned on her screen: the _Enterprise_ and Ikainet, a tiny red dot in the center of a crystalline formation of irregular arms snaking out from the core that surrounded the ship. The scale at the bottom of the screen was in thousands of kilometers. Mahmood seriously doubted that they'd have gotten such a good view so quickly if they hadn't tested out their methods in the dry run they'd done with Ikainet a few hours ago.

The captain's voice caught her attention. He'd gotten up from his seat and was walking back to the rear of the bridge. A screen request popped up at her board. Quickly, she sent the picture to LaForge's station.

"My god," she heard with satisfaction while she re-routed the sensor updates to the picture on LaForge's screen. There were definitely going to be a few good technical papers coming out of this mission, she thought.

"Mr. Worf, signal Ensign Ikainet to begin," Picard ordered before turning his attention back to the LaForge's readouts. Like most starship commanders, he treated violations of the free space around his ship with almost claustrophobic dread. Space was vast, and there was no reason to waste it. Collisions, even sublight ones, meant ruptures in the fragile bubble of atmosphere inside the ship, loss of power, immobility and a cold, unpleasant death.

Worf initiated the pre-programmed phaser sequence.

Immediately after the phasers hit, Picard saw on the picture on LaForge's screen energy lancing out from Ikainet's branches to the surrounding mass of Roocaroom around them. They responded. Picard glanced at the viewscreen and then at the readouts, his only input to what was going on outside the shell of Roocaroom that surrounded the ship. Except for the occasional flash visible through the irregular holes in Ikainet's trunk, there was no indication that anything was going on at all. He felt not the slightest tremor in the deck, shift in the gravity, currents in the air, flicker to the lights. They seemed to be totally insulated from the exchange of massive energies outside.

He returned to the command chair and turned to Counsellor Troi.

"Do you sense anything, Counselor?"

She shook her head. "Nothing specific and nothing we don't already know. I sense them, crowding together; they want something, but they aren't hostile." Above her, Worf silently scowled. Hostility did not require intent. Sometimes destructive capacity was all that was needed.

They waited. They'd agreed ahead of time that Ikainet would report after the first hour. Riker and Picard stayed on the bridge. They and Counsellor Troi occasionally walked back from the command area to the science and engineering stations. Lieutenant Commander LaForge went back down to Engineering. Worf ran a few dry-runs with some randomly selected phaser sequences with the team in Engineering. They reported 96% efficiency. Data continued to study the sensor output at his station. Within fifteen minutes of Ikainet's opening communication nearly all the surrounding Roocaroom became involved in a huge, high energy 'conversation'. Something was going on. Picard paced.

Data had meticulously planned out exactly which signals Ikainet would use to communicate what she discovered. One light pattern for malicious motives, another for benign curiosity. Data had devised literally thousands of sequences for Ikainet to choose from and just as many for the _Enterprise_ to use to transmit queries and instructions. There were fail safe sequences to indicate that a situation, question or command was indescribable, inapplicable or not understood, so that Ensign Ikainet could always answer with at least something when she encountered the inevitable unexpected situation. There was also an emergency escape command. Supposedly Ikainet could push her way out of a crowd of her fellows and release the starship to outrun the slower Roocaroom.

At the end of the first hour Ikainet's report hit.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

"Report!" Picard picked himself up off the deck only to be knocked down again by another violent heaving of the floor. Riker, who'd been seated when the first shock buffeted the ship, helped him up to the command chair. Another rumble echoed over the red alert klaxon throughout the body of the ship around them.

"Power levels are fluctuating wildly!" LaForge, now back in Engineering, reported over the comm. "I'm shutting down the engines, switching to emergency power."

The lights dimmed to red then brightened, then dimmed and brightened. They finally flickered back up to normal. "Aborted Power Cut-Off" flashed on Riker's station.

"Mr. LaForge?" Picard waited for an explanation.

Down in Engineering LaForge and his staff switched from unresponsive controls to computer cut-off and then manual overrides, but their situation didn't change.

"That's impossible," somebody commented uselessly to the lighted black panels above his station.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

"She's taken over the ship?" Riker asked, angry and a little incredulous from his seat in the conference room.

"Not the ship, Sir, just the power systems and the engines," LaForge answered. It was now more than an hour since Ensign Ikainet's 'report'. A glowing blue haze extended from Ikainet's plasma center to surround the warp nacelles and arc out to the impulse engines and several other places on the hull.

"What about control?" Picard inquired.

"That's what I don't understand, Sir. We've still got control. Everything responds the way it's supposed to, except we can't control where the power comes from. Right now, all the engines are off line and we should be running on emergency battery power." The normal room lighting contradicted this statement. "But we're not."

"How?"

"She's hooked into all of the major power couplings on the ship. She's feeding power to them directly. Not too much, not too little, so she's not tripping any safety cut-offs. We tried activating some of them manually, but she just re-routed around them. It would take us days to go though them all." the chief engineer shook his head. "But I wouldn't recommend it."

"Why not?" Riker asked.

"Well, we'd essentially be unplugging all the ship's power. We'd be cutting ourselves off from Ikainet and our own sources as well. As soon as she stops feeding us power we'd be dead in space, running our life support on the batteries and not much else. It would take us hours to get things running again, and there would be no guarantees that Ensign Ikainet wouldn't butt in again." He pointed to the conference room windows through which they normally viewed stars. Outside was the enormous curving gray wall of Ikainet's trunk, lit by the plasma glow behind the ship. A few irregular holes revealed the mass of other Roocaroom a few kilometer beyond Ikainet's dubious sanctuary.

"Mr. Data," Picard turned to the android. "Was there any indication that Ikainet might do something like this?"

"None, Sir. Her orders were quite clear that she was to do nothing outside of report her findings, if she could. Beyond that her primary responsibility was to the safety of the ship."

The captain leaned forward in his seat and rested his elbows on the glassy surface of the conference table. "Could this be what the Roocaroom have been intending all along and Ikainet is just acting for the group, possibly against her will?"

Data nodded. "That is possible. There is no precedent for one Roocaroom forcing another to do something, but sensors indicate that Ensign Ikainet is in direct or indirect communication with all of the Roocaroom in the group. This action could have been 'suggested' to her by the others and it might have been difficult for her to refuse."

"But why are we still here?" Riker referred to the space stations and other ships that had been destroyed.

"Ensign Ikainet has full knowledge of our power systems and the _Enterprise's_ construction as well as strict orders to protect the ship," Data postulated. "The other Roocaroom had no such advantage in their encounters. They could have quite easily unintentionally destroyed the other craft."

"And presumably Ensign Ikainet is still following orders while acting out her fellow Roocaroom's intentions," Picard concluded. "Mr. Worf, I take it we still have phasers."

"Yes, Sir."

"Then it would seem that we can still proceed with our mission." It occured to Picard that in a way they had accomplished their mission. With every Roocaroom in the system sticking to them like a giant, stellar popcorn ball-an incredibly appropriate metaphor for Ensign Ikainet-they weren't likely to be threatening any other spaceships. "Mr. Data I want you to signal to Ensign Ikainet. We're going ask her why she's subverted our power systems." Data nodded and they all rose to return to the bridge.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Ten minutes later Data reported a partially negative result.

"She can't explain?" Picard asked standing over Data seated at Ops.

"Not precisely. She has confirmed that the other Roocarooms' intent was to subvert the power systems of the other ships and the satellites, and that this activity began when the Tungaras Observatory initiated its power draw with one of the Roocaroom; they seem to have developed a taste for it."

"That was the first thing they destroyed," Picard mused. "Of course," he realized, "they tried to run their power systems off of one of the Roocaroom. And that's what they're trying to do to us through Ensign Ikainet."

"Correct, Sir. Apparently the first Roocaroom communicated to the others what happened and they've been trying to initiate a similar type of power connection ever since."

"They haven't been having a whole lot of success," Riker commented next to Picard.

Picard nodded. "Data, tell her to withdraw from the ship's power systems."

A moment later. "No compliance, Sir."

"No compliance?" Riker asked.

"I believe she is refusing," Data confirmed. Picard's expression soured. He expected orders to be obeyed.

"Repeat the order, Mr Data." The answer remained unchanged.

Back at the science station, Lt. Mahmood noticed some significant activity and beeped Ops at the fore bridge. "Captain." Data pointed at a marker on his board. "Sensors indicate simultaneous activity between Ensign Ikainet and the other Roocaroom when she communicates with us."

"She's telling them what we're saying?"

Data shrugged. "I do not believe we told her not to."

"Well, tell her to stop it."

The answer. "Uncomprehended request."

Picard thought a moment. "Data order her to ask the other Roocaroom to leave us and return to the outer system."

Data sent the message. "They do not comprehend the request."

"Try rephrasing it." Same result.

Picard asked if the Roocaroom would at least move away from the _Enterprise_.

Data relayed a negative response.

Picard paced while he made more requests through the android and got equally unsatisfactory responses.

"This is getting us nowhere," Picard concluded, disgusted, after a half hour. "We've got to talk to her face to face."

"You want to try to break out?" Riker had grave doubts about whether their emergency escape plan would work.

"Not yet. Data, tell her we need to talk to her. Ask her if she can resume her humanoid form without leaving us open to the Roocaroom." Data relayed the request to phaser control. Worf monitored the firing program, as he had for all the other exchanges. Even though they'd been firing the phasers at half-power for over thirty minutes their power reserves showed an undepleted 97%. But after all, they weren't really using their own power anyway. Essentially it was Ensign Ikainet firing on Ensign Ikainet.

The ship shuddered. Light streaked across the gray tube surrounding the ship and left nothing in its wake. The plasma flickered and folded in on itself. In Engineering, two engineers were jolted out of their conversation by sudden fluctuations in the ship's power levels. Seconds later everyone had dropped what they were doing.

On the bridge everyone watched, fascinated, while sections of Ikainet's trunk flashed and vanished on the view screen.

"Yeeeeeeeesss?"

Picard jumped and actually cried out in surprise.

Ensign Ikainet had materialized right behind him; a faint bluish glow surrounded her.

They stared at her for a moment. Out of reflex, Worf drew his phaser.

"Ensign, what the hell are you doing?" Picard demanded, furious and just a bit miffed by her sudden appearance.

She ecstatically gestured in the air, apparently trying to act out what words could not describe.

"Ensign!" Picard shouted, hoping to cut off her frantic and useless arm-waving. She stopped and focused on him with a look of excited happiness. Her arms shot out toward him, palms facing him. For a brief moment Picard thought she was going to answer him. She did.

**- - - End Part 9**


	16. Chapter 17

**DINNER AT TEN-FORWARD**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 10: T****oo Short on Reason**

"Medical emergency on the bridge."

Doctor Crusher put down her lab samples.

"Alissa, you're with me. Dr. Selar, I'm going to the bridge." She grabbed a medical kit and a moment later she and her assistant were in the turbolift.

"...they settled down for a few minutes but they've started fluctuating again," she heard LaForge's voice report as she stepped onto the bridge. The pastel tans of the bridge reflected eerie blue light. "But she's still in the warp drive, Sir. And damned if I know how she's doing it from up there on the bridge." The red alert sounded, adding its red flash to the reflections.

Doctor Crusher stopped halfway down the ramp to the fore bridge section. "What...?"

Captain Picard stood rigid, a shocked look frozen on his face, flickering blue energy playing across his body. Ensign Ikainet, her back to the doctor, faced him with arms raised. Riker, Worf and four security guards surrounded them. Data scanned them with a tricorder.

"We're getting massive power fluctuations down here." LaFarge's voice cut across the bridge again.

At her station, Lieutenant Mahmood had just finished reconstructing the sensor map of the Roocaroom after Ensign Ikainet's sudden disappearance from outside the ship. The picture started to jitter. The active sensors had suddenly gone unstable, so she cut off their output. The jitter stayed. She quickly recalibrated with the forward sensor team. Then she turned around and looked at the main view screen. The Roocaroom themselves were actually moving. Their formation was breaking up.

The ship began to vibrate, an ominous, motion felt through the feet from the deck and accompanied by an increasing rumble.

In Engineering, a disastrously chaotic power build-up appeared on every control panel. Lieutenant Barclay and two technicians tired to manually shut down the conduits to the warp chamber even as it became clear to them all that they weren't going to have enough time to complete the task. LaForge and the others worked furiously, focused solely on heading off catastrophe. "We can't handle it down here. All our controls are frozen. We can't even eject the core. She's gonna blow in twenty seconds if we can't stop it." The lighting changed. The blue fire of the warp chamber flashed yellow. Then orange. Then red.

Helpless to do anything, Doctor Crusher watched, her eyes on Picard. Riker swore. He couldn't do anything to avert impending disaster either. So he was damn well going to _something_. He grabbed a phaser from one of the security people and fired at Ikainet. Worf and the others followed suit. The whine of the phasers joined the thunderous shaking of the ship and the red alert. The beams didn't get within ten centimeters of Ikainet, the phaser energy harmlessly stopped by a force field.

Then it stopped.

With a flash of blue, the energy receded and vanished from Picard. The floor jolted to a halt. The rumbling ceased. The lights dimmed. Riker and the others ceased fire. Only the red alert klaxon stayed. On Mahmood's screen the assembled Roocaroom scattered in all directions. In Engineering, power levels plunged.

Picard stiffly fell forward, knocking Ensign Ikainet down like a domino. Doctor Crusher and her assistant stepped over her to get to him. Gently she turned him over. Somebody dragged Ikainet away. Riker started talking loudly to LaForge.

Picard stared upward with a look of shock on his face while she scanned him. His whole body trembled. "He's having a seizure." Nurse Ogawa had the medical kit open and handed her a hypospray. Crusher listened to the commotion around her only enough to hear that the ship wasn't going to blow up.

Picard lay just behind the Ops station, so Data couldn't take his seat without stepping over him and the doctor. He went to the aft control stations. Riker went to the engineering station while Worf and Data took over at tactical. Data confirmed the ship's and the Roocarooms' positions with Lieutenant Mahmood at the science station and Lieutenant Monroe took the helm while Worf and Riker checked the ship's status."We're running on our own power now. I'm taking any unnecessary systems off-line until we've made repairs. But considering what happened I'd say we got off pretty light," LaForge concluded. Riker acknowledged the report and then he turned to what he perceived as the source of their problem.

There, standing between two security people with the other two holding their phasers on her, Ensign Ikainet had her back to the wall. Her mouth open in a more exaggerated version of her standard smile, she looked positively, ecstatically happy. Riker towered over her.

"You have an explanation for yourself, Ensign?"

"WOW!"

"Is that all you have to say?" Riker shouted at her. The increased volume didn't have any more effect on her than open fury with her. "Mr. Worf, take her to the brig."

It was a totally useless act, tossing Ensign Ikainet in the brig; she could theoretically escape anytime she wished. But Riker was just too angry to deal with her, and he had to put her _somewhere_ while while they got the ship back on line. And she wasn't likely to think of escaping on her own and so would probably stay where she was put.

They took her away.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Color and shape became form and line. Bright lights, circles above. Sounds acquired significance, or at least familiarity. He turned his head and realized that he felt terrible. Pains in his arms and legs. He didn't want to move his head lest he might increase the dull ache and pressure he felt.

Blue and red. Crusher. But the meaning attached to her flitted away along with that of the words she spoke. Hand on his forehead. One person, but many hands and many movements. He felt as if he were experiencing a selection of many variations of the same experience, all at once.

He jerked his head to the side, suddenly aware that the chaos and cacophony that he'd just risen from was still with him. But it was outside. Shifting, reforming, settling. He closed his eyes, shutting out the sights and sounds around him.

Stars. He saw stars.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Commander Riker stepped out of the turbolift and strolled down the corridor. He briefly smiled and nodded toward a young med tech with whom he'd spent an evening a few weeks ago. His smile disappeared as soon as she walked past.

In spite of all the calamity Ensign Ikainet had caused, the ship was in fairly good shape. LaForge didn't expect the repairs to require any more than a couple of days to replace burned out components and power couplings and then inspect the rest for damage they hadn't found.

Riker still had no idea why the Roocaroom had so suddenly returned to their dust cloud in the outer system. They'd done so with amazing alacrity as soon as Ensign Ikainet had broken off her assault on Captain Picard. A few dozen of them still hung about the starship, but they made no concerted effort to surround or affect them. Data had identified four of them as the missing H'cars.

Riker turned a corner, entering Sickbay proper. He passed a few other people and walked into the main examination room. Doctor Crusher studied the medical readouts on a wall panel with another doctor while a technician scanned Captain Picard on the examination table.

At the moment, Data and the ship's science staff were analyzing the record of events; hopefully they would find out why the Roocaroom had retreated, Riker was certain that he would be driven to ask Ikainet for her report. But for now the first officer preferred to leave her out of sight in the brig.

Crusher finished speaking with her colleague, Dr. Hill, and turned to the commander. The technician finished his scan and followed Hill out.

"Doctor," he addressed her. Beverly Crusher did not look very cheerful.

"Well, there's no physical damage that we can find. We've stopped the seizure." The Doctor started out with the good news. She walked to the examining table. Riker followed. "But somehow his higher brain functions are being scrambled and we haven't the faintest idea what's causing it."

Riker looked down at Picard, lying tense on the examining table, his eyes tightly shut. "Scrambled?"

Crusher turned back to the medical displays on the wall. "We don't have a better word for it." Riker looked at the lighted displays she brought up. Brain wave patterns, anatomical scans, lighted colors on black...they were semi-meaningless to him. Medicine was not his best subject.

"It's as if the cells in his cerebral cortex are being randomly stimulated, individually. That's what caused the seizure," she went on. "I gave him 20 cc of teracinym; that's stopped it for now, but without it, it would start up again." She turned back to Riker, her eyes widened and she started forward. Behind Riker's back, Picard had opened his eyes and was getting up.

"Where do you think you're going?" Crusher reached him, putting a hand on his shoulder. Half sitting, the captain stared back at her. He looked slightly peeved, but he didn't answer. A second later his gaze passed on to Riker. It seemed to Riker that Picard recognized him, but nothing beyond that. His attention wandered to the rest of Sickbay and then he looked down at himself and sat up.

"I'm not finished yet." Doctor Crusher pressed him back down. He stared up at her, peeved with her all over again. Then he looked back at Riker as if he hadn't noticed him there before and then around at Sickbay again.

"What's wrong with him?" Riker looked down at the captain; Picard's nearly hairless head looked small on the pillow of the biobed.

"I don't know yet." She took her hand off Picard's shoulder and faced Riker again. "If we can just find the source of the stimulus, we should be able to..." Riker's attention shifted. She looked back. Picard was getting up again.

"Lie still." She pressed him back down on the examining table again. He complied, but his eyes said he didn't want to. And he didn't look like he understood why she wanted him to lie there.

"He wants to get up for something," Riker commented.

"Well, he's not going to until I'm finished." Doctor Crusher left her hand resting on his chest. It seemed to hold him in place. "Alissa," she addressed her assistant who had just entered the room. "I want to set up for a full neural mapping." She looked down at her patient; he stared back at her briefly before his attention wandered again. "I'm going to find out exactly what's going on in that head of yours."

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Ikainet sat in her cell. She was blissfully happy. In truth, Ikainet was always happy; it was one of the things that annoyed people most about her. But now she was _blissfully_ happy. She had something new.

She had come away from her misadventure with a tiny bit of understanding, her own little copy of Human thought, and for the first time in her existence (however many millions of years that might be) she really comprehended the passage of time with humanoid perception. With this pocket of knowledge she perceived cause and effect, not as the multi-dimensional infinities she had evolved in, but as a series of events, cascading one after another. She peered at past and present with this new understanding like a nearsighted person using a lens.

Before this, all events and realities of past, present and future had been smashed together. She'd known how to sort them by chronology, but the question of why it was done that way had never occurred to her. Finding the answers to the universe was pointless to Ikainet, she already had them; it was the questions that inspired her.

And the people around her were _full_ of questions.

The door to the detention area opened and Commander Riker entered. The guard stood, but the commander waved her back to her seat and strode to the door of the cell.

Riker had checked on the captain, been to Engineering, talked to Mr. Data, Commander LaForge and Mr. Worf about their current status, and answered several calls from Caro about what was going on. He'd avoided this confrontation for hours, but he couldn't put it off any longer. The grim fact remained that there were still forty-seven Roocaroom outside in space near the ship, and Ensign Ikainet was the only person who could communicate with them.

"Well, Ensign. Do you have an explanation for yourself now?" he demanded. Chest out, he glared down at her from his full height.

"Explanation?" came her initial response. Having seen the true mechanisms behind the perception of time had regrettably not bestowed upon her any conscious ability to use it.

"I don't have time for any of your games Ensign," Riker snarled. "Why did you attack the captain after taking over our power systems?"

"He asked me, 'Ensign, what the hell are you doing?' " she replied innocently. Regrettably, she could never have hoped to have explained her actions in words to Picard. And with a readily available means of demonstration via the ship's power systems, she wouldn't have thought of using only words. And the Roocaroom around her certainly didn't.

"So, what the hell were you doing?"

She stood there facing him with her mouth open. She waved her arms mechanically. "I...got into the _Enterprise_. I got into Captain Picard."

Riker eyed her warily. "You got into the _Enterprise_ power systems?"

"Yeeeeeesss!"

"And you're saying took you over the captain's power systems?" Riker asked, a little incredulously.

"Yeeeeeeeeeesss!" This revelation really seemed to make her happy. She nodded, her head wobbling up and down vigorously, her loose, ropy purple hair wiggling like snakes.

"Why? You could have just told us!" he yelled back.

Her smile vanished. "He asked me what the hell I was doing," she repeated.

"Did you consider at all that you might have killed him?"

"I was very careful," she announced proudly. "The ship's power systems can produce energy streams muuuuuuuuch smaller than mine."

"That's not an answer, Ensign! You could have killed him. You came damn near to killing all of us when you got into the ship's power systems. So, you better have a damn good reason for it." Or...else? The threat went unspoken. What would he threaten her with?

His mention of the near disaster sparked a reaction. She jiggled in place excitedly, exclaiming "ooh, ooh, ooh."

"What?" Riker finally asked.

The jumble of events surrounding her new perception of past and future time contained a trace of a vast and hideous void. It was a non-place where Ikainet did not exist. Thoughts would not form there. It was the antithesis of everything. A Human might have called it death, but that would have been too shallow a term to use for the collapse of Ikainet's multi-dimensional domain. It was new to the H'car. But then everything was new to her. Her whole existence was one of discoveries of the things around her regardless of the positions of those discoveries in linear time. But this was the first time the non-place had become associated with her real-space form. This was indeed the _first_ time, for Ikainet now had a true sense of what "first" really meant.

"It was really, really, bad. Almost." Chaos; formless energy, growing expanding, consuming; fragments of Starfleet training holograms about potentially hazardous conditions on starships; the potentials lined themselves up in her mind. "I stooooopped. There was tooooooooo muuuuuch stuuuuuff. It aaaaall-most ate up everything! IIIIIIIII stoooooopped."

"What?" She wasn't making much sense to Riker, but he could see that his questioning had hit upon something important. She'd actually closed her mouth. She even looked worried, her big eyes making her expression almost fearful. "What did you stop?"

"The-the-captain!"

"You're saying the captain almost blew up the ship?"

"Not the captain. All those thiiiiings he's got." Regrettably, Ikainet didn't have enough imagination to describe the sumptuous chaos of the Human mind with anything other than the generic term, "things". "It was too much for everybody." Fortunately, Commander Riker did have enough imagination to comprehend that she was referring to her brief excursion into the captain's brain.

"Is that why the other Roocaroom left?"

"Yeeeeeeeeeeeeesss," she pronounced definitively. "They wanted more. From the ship. And then the captain. It was too much. They left."

The commander narrowed his eyes at her critically "Are you saying that attacking the ship was their idea?"

"Yeeeeeeeesss."

"Did you try to stop them?" he demanded.

"Stop them?" Her tone made this sound like a new and unheard of concept. He stared back at her, alone in her spartan cell, with disgust. She might not have thought of it, but even if she had, she might not have been able to stop them.

"Ensign," he said quietly. "There are still Roocaroom outside the ship. Do you know why?"

"Noooooooooo."

"Can you still communicate with them?"

"Yeeeeeeeeeesss." Ikainet's smile returned. Riker sighed and stepped back from the cell door.

""All right Ensign, I want you to work with Mr. Data on a plan to communicate with the Roocaroom. I don't want any surprises this time, Ensign. I don't want any more tricks. I just want to find out what they want and to convince them to return to the outer system. Is that clear?"

Ensign Ikainet nodded, stepping forward eagerly, going right through the door; the force field briefly and uselessly outlined her body, her hair, her dark purplish skin. The guard hastily stood, reaching for her phaser.

"Ensign..." Riker glowered down at her. She looked back at the empty cell and then back at him.

"Ooooooops."

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Wesley Crusher strolled into Sickbay. A few people there greeted him as he passed on his way to his mother's office. Nobody looked tense or stressed out and Wesley counted that as a good sign. He hadn't planned on looking up his mother for dinner that day, but he knew that she'd been busy and would perhaps appreciate a break. And if he happened to hear anything about Captain Picard's condition during his visit, the teenager speculated, then that would be fine, too.

Doctor Crusher sat at her desk, frowning at her terminal. Several medical note padds were laid out beside her.

"Mom?"

"What?" she responded testily before she realized who it was. He jumped back. "Oh, Wes, sorry. I'm a little busy..."

The comm panel at her desk bleeped. "Doctor Crusher." _Now what?_ Wesley read in her eyes.

"Yes."

"We're still having trouble with the captain," said the voice of Counselor Troi.

"I ordered the computer not to open the doors for him."

"They don't. But he keeps trying to walk through them, anyway."

She closed her eyes and slapped her forehead with her palm. "I'll be right there." She got up. Wesley backed away.

"Maybe I'll come back later..."

"Oh no." She hooked his arm at the elbow and took him with her. "This is what you came to ask about anyway."

They left the office and went down a couple turns and corridors and finally ended up at the door to one of the private treatment rooms.

It opened. Dressed in blue sickbay fatigues, Picard stood in the doorway. Two people were behind him, one of them clasping his arm above the elbow. Wesley jumped back.

"Captain." Picard looked at the ensign. He looked cross and intimidating. He took a step toward Wesley, but his mother blocked the way.

"No...you...don't." She advanced sternly, and he backed up. Wesley followed discreetly and tried to stand as inconspicuously as possible while the medical staff surrounded their patient. "Victim", seemed a better word to Wesley from the way things looked.

"Sit...down." His mother put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him down into a treatment chair in the center of the room. Picard looked doubly cross, but he did what he was told. And he didn't say anything back either.

Feeling very insecure about whether he should be there at all, Wesley nervously looked about the room. Sickbay had several of them, just like it, designed to provide specialized care for patients with critical or exotic needs. Only at a fully equipped Starbase medical facility could one find better.

Wesley crept along the wall while his mother, two technicians, Counselor Troi and Dr. Hill fussed over their uncooperative patient. He stopped at a diagnostic wall panel, one of many, and studied the lighted displays. It showed a massively complicated brain scan, presumably Captain Picard's. Wesley knew enough about medicine to know that the chemical brain wave activity was all wrong. The charts and comparative graphs on the next panel confirmed this.

"Hold still," Wesley heard his mother say for the fifth or sixth time. It was now quite clear what had been irritating her that afternoon.

At a desk terminal Wesley found a partially completed cerebral scan mapped over a full brain scan taken from Captain Picard only a few months ago.

"There. We'll just anesthetize this part of the scalp and he'll never know they're there." The doctors continued with whatever they were doing and Wesley, still feeling like the intruder, kept his back turned.

Captain Picard had a well documented neural network. Only a few months ago he'd been captured by the Borg and implanted with all manner of hellish "biological enhancements" which had forced him to become literally part of them. The _Enterprise_ crew were able to recapture him, and through him destroy the cybernetic conquerors on the verge of destroying Earth. The removal of those implants had taken many hours of micro-surgery, leaving behind a detailed mapping of Picard's brain. The doctors were using those earlier tests to determine what was wrong with him now.

Something tapped Wesley's shoulder. He spun around in his chair and found his mother gazing down at him.

"See anything?" she asked, strolling around the chair to stare down at the readouts with him.

"Uh, no." Then he looked up at her curiously. "Should I?"

"Maybe you can." She deleted the display and brought up a new picture on the screen. He studied it.

"The life sign energy readings are higher than the total chemical energy output?" he finally asked.

"Uh, hmm. A lot higher. And." She punched up new graphs and histograms in yellows and greens. "I had the computer extrapolate on where the energy could be coming from when it doesn't show up on any of our tests, and this is what came up." Wesley stared at the computer's speculations. He was amazed that it had come up with anything _that_ bizarre. He turned and looked back at the Captain.

Doctor Hill had a restraining hand on his shoulder to deter him from getting up again. The technicians, one with a tricorder pointed at Picard, the other at one of the wall displays, monitored the test. Two tiny blinking scanners were stuck onto his bald scalp, just above the hairline above his ears. The captain still looked annoyed.

Wesley Crusher returned to the computer's diagnosis. Superimposed on his mother's scans of the captain's brain he saw a shockingly familiar energy pattern.

**- - - End Part 10**


	17. Chapter 18

**DINNER AT TEN-FORWARD**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 11: ****Loud as the Stars**

"Oh, look who's here."

Ranip Blakox glanced up from his very late dinner to see Ensign Ikainet standing right next to him. Cercy signalled her to a chair and she sat. A muscular security type conspicuously took a seat at the table next to them. Eunice Monotinoi, seated across from Blakox, ceased nibbling her baklava and looked at the H'car with large, fearful green eyes. She and Cercy were sharing quarters that week.

"So they let you out of the hoosegow, as my ancestors would have said," Blakox commented after finishing a bite of leafy greens.

"Yeeeeeesss." She looked just as insipidly cheerful as she always did. "I'm here to report that I'm unavailable to return to duty, until further notice. You should ask Commander Riker if you have any questions about my status."

"Yes, Commander Riker managed to get around to telling me." Blakox cast a disparaging eye to the superfluous security guard. "It just amazes me who they let run around on this ship. But I suppose if you really did want to blow us up we couldn't stop you."

"You didn't really try to blow up the ship did you?" Cercy implored, blatantly ready to take her side of the matter. Eunice nervously sucked a few sticky nuts and pastry flakes from her fingertips.

"Nooooooo."

"I don't suppose you would really need to _try_ to blow the ship up, Ensign. With you it just might accidentally happen." Eunice was beginning to squirm in her seat, and Blakox was perversely enjoying seeing her uncomfortable.

"I don't suppose you were really _trying_ to kill the Captain, either." Eunice straightened at the word "kill". She narrowed her eyes at him and fingered her uniform collar next to her ensign's pip.

"Noooo."

Other people in Ten Forward were glancing at their table. Guinan and the other hosts at the bar seemed to be dallying a long time there instead of going to their table and asking Ikainet for an order.

"Well, I don't suppose it would have worked even if you had tried. Even you might find it difficult. Picard, I think, is indestructible."

"He is?" This seemed to surprise the H'car.

"Oh yes. Death, destruction, mayhem, Borg, aliens with big noses, they all just bounce off of him."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Cercy interrupted. "I heard that Borg business really shook him up, took him a few weeks to really recover from that."

"You listen to all the gossip, don't you?" Blakox observed. "Cercy, a mere few months ago Captain Picard had his entire anatomy remodeled by the Borg. After Commander Riker's heroic rescue, they dragged him down to Sickbay and remodeled him again. Two days later there he was, back in his usual place, with hardly a scratch on him." He actually sounded disappointed.

"I didn't know you were so hostile toward Captain Picard," Eunice said, ready to defend her captain. Obviously she was one of those who felt that he could do no wrong. The fact that Picard tended to inspire such unflagging loyalty in people was yet another thing that Blakox held against him.

"Oh, it isn't anything personal. He doesn't like anybody above the rank of lieutenant commander," Cercy explained to his companion.

Eunice stood. "Well, I think I've heard all I care to hear. I think I might go back to _my_ cabin now."

Cercy, realizing that he was about to be abandoned, hastily got to his feet and left with her. Sourly, Blakox watched them leave. He hadn't intended to drive Eunice and Cercy away. He often thought he should be less blunt with people, but he never seemed to quite manage it. What good was companionship if you couldn't say what you really thought?

Blakox caught Guinan's eye. She gave him one of her mysteriously wise smiles, and he had a sinking feeling that it wasn't Ensign Ikainet that the Ten Forward Host was staying away from at all. Next to him, Ikainet conspicuously waved at Guinan who politely nodded back. Blakox looked at her. Then he looked at the bulky, extra-large security type at the table next to them. _Is this what I'm left with?_, he wondered. _Honesty just doesn't pay._

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

"He has what?"

It was very late. Or very early depending on how one looked at it. Commander Riker had been thinking about retiring to bed when another communique had come in from Caro. When he was finished with Dule Vornki Josat, Data had waylaid him with new findings on the Roocaroom. After a short conference, the android had left to continue his assignment with Ensign Ikainet to determine a safe way for her to communicate with the few remaining Roocaroom that still drifted near the starship.

Then Riker had gone down to Engineering. The repairs were two hours behind schedule. Ikainet had caused much more hidden damage than previously estimated. LaForge was working his staff double shifts just to find them all. And that was just in Engineering. It seemed likely that techs could be busy finding flaws and making repairs to non-essential systems all over the ship for weeks.

Back up to the bridge and Riker had found another communique from Caro to deal with. Now he was sitting with Doctor Crusher and Deanna Troi in the observation lounge.

The room was dark, lit only at their end of the long conference table. Outside, the stars gleamed and a few stray Roocaroom drifted by in the distance through the room's wide view ports.

"He has a microscop-" Doctor Crusher began again.

"I heard you," Riker interrupted impatiently. "What is it?"

"When Ensign Ikainet took over the power systems on the ship she did it by replacing our power sources with her own. And being connected to all the ship's systems she was able to use them to replace the captain's power sources," Crusher explained. "Except that the power sources in the Human body are chemical, and she just supplanted them on a cellular level."

"For every cell in his body?"

"No," she qualified. "She was very selective. Only his higher brain functions were affected."

"She's not doing anything to him now. Why is it still affecting him?"

"When she took over his normal chemical processes she...connected him to whatever subspace energy source that she uses and she seems to have left some of it behind and it's still...clinging to him, like a static charge."

Riker mulled this over. "Have you found any way of discharging this energy?"

Crusher shook her head. "Not yet. We have been monitoring it, and as far as we can tell, the energy levels are at least stable. I've got Wesley and Geordi modifying some of the medical equipment so we can get a better look at this. It was Wesley who realized where it came from. He's been studying Ikainet's warp field for a class project and it has the same trace energy pattern as what we're reading from the captain."

Riker nodded in response. "How's the captain doing otherwise?"

"Surprisingly well," Troi answered. "He recognizes us and he knows that something's wrong and that we're trying to help. But..." She searched for the right words, her dark eyes shadowed in the gloom of the conference room. "He's preoccupied, as if he sees something that he didn't before. It's very strange; he's not focusing on it. He's not focusing on anything."

Crusher nodded in agreement. "We've tested him, and right now he has an attention span of about one second. There's no damage at all that we can find, but he's not consciously using his memory. He's just responding to things around him."

"Sounds like Ensign Ikainet to me," Riker noted.

Crusher nodded again. "Unfortunately, the captain wasn't built to think in subspace."

"And it's been causing a few problems," Troi added with a knowing glance toward the Doctor. Riker looked at her.

"He's driving us crazy," she admitted. "He's aware of us, he's aware that he's in Sickbay and that he doesn't want to be there, so he keeps trying to leave. You saw him. If I tell him one thing, even if he could fully understand, he forgets it two seconds later. I've got to have somebody watching him all the time."

Riker smiled sympathetically. "Let's hope we can keep him out of trouble until we figure out how to get this subspace energy out of him."

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Sylvia Munarz tried very hard to read the letters column of the medical technician's journal on the note padd display she held. But eventually she glanced up, just for a second.

Captain Picard glared back at her.

She looked down at the display again.

She heard him get up out of the chair. Didn't he need to sleep at all? Fortunately, he did not move in her direction. She sat in a chair placed right in front of the door to the room. It seemed to be the only thing she could do that would perpetually remind him that he wasn't supposed to leave.

She glanced up at him again. He stood next to a computer terminal and stared down at the table it was on. She lowered her gaze again before he had a chance to look up and stare at her again. She fruitlessly tried reading, but only got through a few paragraphs before she gave in to temptation.

She peeked at him again. He was looking at her. She hastily lowered her gaze. She could feel his eyes on her.

She shyly looked up. He was looking back down at the table again. Sylvia tried to find her place, yet again, where she'd been reading.

Something flashed.

She looked up. Her mouth fell open momentarily before she hastily tapped her communicator.

"Medical emergency to Room 7!"

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

"Doctor Crusher to Sickbay."

Beverly Crusher rolled over in her bed, sighed and answered the call. A minute later she was dressed and heading for the door.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

"Commander Riker to Sickbay."

Riker woke up instantly at the sound of Dr. Crusher's voice.

"Riker here."

"We've had a little...problem with the captain."

He sat up, fully awake. "What happened?"

"Well, nothing life-threatening, but I think you'd better come down and see this for yourself." Crusher's voice didn't sound too worried, so he took that as a good sign, but the fact that she'd called at all had him concerned.

A few minutes later, dressed, un-showered and having had only five hours of sleep, Commander Riker entered Sickbay. When he walked into Room 7 he found a large group of people had preceded him. Doctor Crusher and several members of her staff were there, plus Geordi LaForge, Data, Ensign Ikainet, an engineering technician and Wesley Crusher. And standing somewhere in the middle of the crowd, dressed in slippers and blue sickbay fatigues, was Captain Picard.

Riker stepped forward. The Captain looked annoyed. He kept looking from one person to another and shifting his weight from side to side. He couldn't go very far; besides being surrounded, his arm was trapped. His right forearm met the surface of a table and just ended there. Riker could see his fingers wiggling underneath. Geordi LaForge and the engineering tech were cutting a semi-circle around his arm with a torch while Crusher and a med tech held Picard steady. They were nearly finished.

"How the hell did that happen?"

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Somebody bumped up next to him. He edged away from it. A moment later it happened again. He edged away from it in the opposite direction.

The stars outside the ship faintly howled with energy and it distracted him. Mighty and awesome in the vastness of space, he marvelled at their unchanging majesty and at his own ability to see them, to truly comprehend their size and distance from himself.

Another distraction. His arm came free and and along with it, a slab of plastic that encircled it. The balance was entirely wrong when he tried to raise his arm. He stared at the dead weight on it. Then the people around him crowded closer, holding his arm up for him and gently pushing him backwards. He resisted, but not very hard. Many, many voices; many, many hands surrounded him. The reality around him fragmented, but all the pieces were still similiar. He knew who they were, but their proximity repelled him. They backed him up to sit in a reclining chair.

He scowled at Ikainet. She stared back with her slow-witted, open-mouthed smile and then turned away to speak with Riker, LaForge and Data. Her presence offended him.

In the unseen world of stars that he was aware of, she was large and ponderous, a noisy, heap of energy when compared with the graceful stars so far away. But even so, she made better harmony with space around them than the warp engines. It disturbed him that his ship made such a poor showing when compared to the galaxy around it. The engines crassly belched out their power, but there was an intricacy to their discordance as their outpouring fractured and splintered to all parts of the ship.

Riker spoke to LaForge. LaForge said something back and he wondered what they were discussing. Hands rested on his shoulders. He tried shaking off the unwelcome touch. LaForge spoke to Riker. Riker said something back and he wondered what they were discussing. Multiple variations of the actions of the people around him played simultaneously. He squirmed in his chair.

"Sit still," Crusher told him. Her name and the meaning of her words fled as soon as she said them, but her glare commanded his attention. He looked down at what she was doing. He saw an arm, his own arm, with a nasty red burn banding it just below the wrist. The wound was partially covered by a small shiny square cloth. She held the blue beam of a hand-held tissue-regenerator to it. Multitudes of variations of the shape of the burn, the position of the shiny cloth, the angle of the blue beam crowded his vision. He didn't feel anything and, surprised, he tried moving his hand to check and see if it was really his own.

"Don't move." The angry tone of her voice caught his attention. Her words echoed with varying nuances. He stared back at her blue eyes. He liked them very much. She shifted position without moving; he saw her looking intently at him, and he saw the top of her head as she worked on the wound on his wrist. Her actions broke up into multiple variations of similar activity. He couldn't follow it.

Outside the ship, a few dozen Roocaroom drifted nearby. Many, many more formed a ring far out from Caro's star. They were each similar swollen bulges of energy, like Ikainet, but they had the appearance of being in their element, like muddy bubbles in clear water, and so wore a measure of simple, subtle beauty. Ikainet had a harsh, hardened quality to her, compact, yet still massive compared to the tiny, whining energies of the ship that surrounded her smaller, outer form.

He watched Ikainet with faint distaste. She spoke and waved her arms at Commander Riker. Calmly standing next to her, Mr. Data joined in her narrative. Picard's material and subspace views of Ensign Ikainet were totally discordant, but they were clear and distinct, unlike the confusion of people and slightly varying realities around her.

His hand tingled. He looked down at it. He raised it and flexed the fingers. No thought of the now healed injury crossed his mind while he tested the sensation.

He looked up at Doctor Crusher, now standing with Commander Riker. He started to get up. Hands pressed down on his shoulders, restraining him. He twisted and looked up at a familiar nurse. Scowling, he pulled away from her. He sat up defiantly and put his feet on the floor. He looked about the room.

Outside the ship, the stars whispered, awesome and huge and distant. Within the ship, the room around him swam with many, many variations of the activity around him.

He started to rise and ran nose-to-chest into Doctor Crusher.

"Look, I've..." The anger in her voice surprised him, and wide-eyed, he stared back at her.

"...can't understand..." He looked from Riker to LaForge to Ikainet to Data. He was surrounded by a confusion of people and echoing words.

"...trying to..." The Roocaroom drifted in space nearby like great bloated whales sunning themselves in the star wind.

His attention hopped from one thing to the next. He wasn't really aware of it; his thoughts just wandered. Gently they coaxed him back into the chair and he stayed there for the time being.

The distant stars...

His back straightened. The nerves in the back of his neck twanged as if he'd pinched them twisting his head too quickly.

Ensign Ikainet stood in front of him, her eyes wide. Everyone else stood away from her. But her other-space form was suddenly next to him. The oddity that he himself _had_ any kind of other-space form for Ikainet to be next to did not strike him as being out of place. Muscles tense, he stared back at her.

Then suddenly somebody chopped his head open. Or at least it felt that way. Hot knives sliced into his skull. He froze, not even able to think of anything else as his mind morbidly locked onto the agony that cut right through him.

The stars faded. _No._ He struggled over the pain, trying to concentrate on them, but they dimmed even faster, receding to near-invisibility. The complex variations around him folded in on themselves, losing their infinite dimensions. He let them go. His head fell backwards. Bodies surrounded him. A circle of heads blocked the lights above.

"Jean-Luc." His name. The pain lessened. Ikainet was apart from him. Movement in subspace didn't obey the usual Newtonian laws that were his day-to-day experience. Voices. Hands on his forehead. The stars grew brighter. He inhaled deeply. The ship's energies shrieked and squealed with their labors. He was disappointed that it was so pitifully discordant compared with the majesty of the star nearby.

Beverly Crusher looked down at him. Her face looked sad. This vaguely alarmed him and he sat up. She rolled her eyes upward and pressed him down. The Roocaroom outside drifted in space...

Riker, Data, Wesley Crusher, Ikainet, LaForge and an engineering tech spoke with Doctor Crusher and the other medical staff and then left. Seconds after the door closed behind them, he'd forgotten that they'd ever been there.

**- - - End Part 11**


	18. Chapter 19

**DINNER AT TEN-FORWARD**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 12: ****Doctor Mom**

Commander Riker sat at the head of the conference room table, in Captain Picard's usual seat. He lowered his head and rubbed his eyes. I'm getting old, he said to himself. Only a short time ago it seemed that five hours of sleep in a night would have barely slowed him down. But now... Riker held back a yawn. He didn't really care much about offending Ikainet with a yawn, but he didn't want the others to see it.

The discussion started with Captain Picard's peculiar accident early that morning.

"Apparently Captain Picard is able to bring some of this subspace energy through to real space," Data explained. "This could pose a considerable danger to the captain and others around him. The total subspace energy is only a couple hundred joules, but that would be more than sufficient to kill the captain if it materialized in the wrong form. However, from the preliminary information that Commander LaForge and I were able to salvage from the damaged medical monitors, and from Doctor Crusher's own observations, the effect itself causes considerable physical pain; this should discourage him from attempting it again."

"Why did he do it in the first place?"

Data cocked his head. "Unknown. He could have been attempting, in his own way, to correct his situation. We theorize that he initiated the process quickly and only became aware of its effects after it had caused some damage."

"This morning Captain Picard's energy..." Ikainet looked at Data and then Riker. Data had spent considerable time deciding upon a vocabulary for Ikainet to describe the mathematically indescribable. "Intensified." She squeezed her hands together. "And then it diffused, almost dissipating."

"The same diffusion effect occurred immediately after Ikainet's attempt to separate the subspace energy from the captain," Data interrupted. "It may be possible for us to induce a dissipation of the energy. Doctor Crusher is pursuing this line of investigation. At present, there is no indication that the condition is imminently life-threatening."

"Let's hope so," the first officer answered ominously before moving on to the next subject; the cause of the Roocaroom incursions into the Caroomad inner system. Data embarked on a long technical explanation, but Riker was obliged to stop him and ask what he meant by sensory linkage through the Tungaras Observatory's power systems.

Data clarified. "All life functions of a Roocaroom are inextricably inter-linked in its plasma center. Therefore, when the Tungaras Observatory tapped into it, this essentially made the observatory an extension of the Roocaroom's sensory system. The intricacies of the observatory's power systems apparently created a...sensory overload that the Roocaroom found quite...desirable."

"It was great!" Ikainet interjected with an ecstatic and idiotic, open-mouthed smile.

"Naturally," Data went on, speaking cautiously, as if he were discussing a very delicate subject, "after acclimating to it, the Roocaroom attempted to...optimize the effect, with disastrous results."

"The Roocaroom had never dealt with energies that small. So it blew up the observatory." Ikainet added cheerfully, using exactly the same wording that she'd worked out with Data a few hours ago. Riker glared at her; fifteen people had been killed in the explosion.

"No longer having the observatory, the Roocaroom naturally sought out substitutes, and after communicating the experience to its fellows, the other Roocaroom did as well," Data tactfully explained.

Riker's temper boiled over. "Is that you were after, Ensign?"

His anger finally began to penetrate Ikainet's nearly impervious stupidity. Her smile melted into open-mouthed surprise. She wasn't really surprised by Riker's reaction; being nearly incapable of expecting anything at all, nothing surprised her. But the sudden show of temper triggered a responding surprise reaction from her. "Nooooooooo! I reported back what the Roocaroom had been doing."

"You could have just told us what happened; you didn't have to get into the warp engines," LaForge joined in from his side of the table. He'd been up most of the night with the second shift and part of the third, fixing the damage she'd caused.

"Unfortunately, Commander, I believe she did." Surprisingly, Data came to her defense. "The Roocaroom do not distinguish between action and imperative. Therefore, when they described what had occurred, Ensign Ikainet became constrained to act, just as the Roocaroom were constrained to wait for her to 'report' after her first hour of contact with them."

Now Troi spoke up for the errant ensign. "For the Roocaroom, thinking _is_ doing. Ensign Ikainet has had millennia to learn the difference between the two. But she was surrounded by thousands of Roocaroom who hadn't."

"I do not believe she had a choice about invading the _Enterprise_ power systems. If she hadn't, the Roocaroom would have gone through her to reach the ship, without her technical knowledge of our power systems."

Riker looked from Data to Troi and back.

"And what about the Captain?"

"Unfortunately Ikainet was still in direct subspace communication with the Roocaroom when she appeared on the bridge, and so, Captain Picard's request for her to tell him, 'what the hell she was doing,' " Data paraphrased, "was relayed to them and translated into immediate action. Ikainet's connection to the ship's power systems, plus her technical knowledge, gave her the ability to act."

"She could have killed him," Riker countered.

Data shook his head. "Unlikely, Commander. Ensign Ikainet is barred by Starfleet regulations from harming her fellow officers and medical scans indicate that the captain suffered no physical harm from the experience."

Riker reminded him of the captain's current status in Sickbay.

"The residual effect from the contact was unexpected. Regrettably our attempt to have Ikainet draw off the subspace energy from the captain proved that the condition is too delicate for her to reverse."

"The energies in the captain's brain are too small for me to separate him from the subspace domain without hurting him. It's like threading a needle with a sledge hammer." Ikainet demonstrated mashing an imaginary needle. "I can't manipulate energies that small without a _lot_ of practice, or without using the ship's power systems. I'd have to re-sublimate the warp engines again to do it."

"Oh, no you're not," LaForge warned her.

Data cocked his head. He'd spent many hours with Ikainet reviewing their current situation and outlining a selection of plans for dealing with the remaining Roocaroom. But he had done most of the talking. Ikainet had done most of the listening. Now for the first time he realized that Ikainet's speech patterns were different. She wasn't repeating what he'd said while they prepared for this meeting. She was paraphrasing him.

Troi looked at Ikainet curiously as well. There was something different about her. Sitting across the table from her, she didn't really sense anything coherent from the H'car. It was more like a low rumble, telepathic background noise. It was different, but she couldn't say how, or how she knew it had changed. Next to her, Commander Data's body language shifted. He'd noticed a difference, too.

Ensign, what did you just say?" she asked.

"I'd have to re-sublimate the warp engines again to do it," she repeated with a smile.

"Have you ever heard anyone use that sentence before?"

"Nooooooooo."

"Then you just made it up," she stated. Even Riker now realized that Ikainet had stopped abusing her pronouns.

"Yeeeeeeeeeeesss!"

"Ensign that's new. You've never done that before," Troi told her as she leaned forward, elbows on the conference table.

"Ooh." Everything was new to Ikainet. Though her new understanding of linear time had translated into improved grammar, it hadn't changed the overall character of her thought patterns. So, it hadn't occurred to her to say anything about this particular newness.

"Why did you change?" Riker bluntly asked.

"It's different now. Time, events, one thing after another. One word after another." She tapped the table in front of her, as if she were following a line of thought.

"Of course," Troi realized. "The captain picked up some of Ikainet's thought processes, she picked up some of his. In this case, her perception of time. It's more like ours now."

"Riiiiiiiiiight," Ikainet agreed.

"Would this affect her contacting the other Roocaroom?" Riker referred to the remaining Roocaroom outside the ship. Data shrugged, inwardly concerned that he hadn't noticed the change in Ikainet before.

"Uncertain, Sir. I will need to evaluate its effect on our plan to communicate with the Roocaroom."

Riker glowered at Ikainet. Slack-jawed, she smiled back.

"Make it so."

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Doctor Crusher returned with a couple of new spoons after having disposed of the one that had ended up on the floor.

"Okay, let's try this, again."

Captain Picard innocently looked back as she took a seat next to him. They sat alone, together in the spacious room, the medical equipment and black diagnostic panels for the moment inactive. His stomach growled and, surprised by it, he shifted position uncomfortably. He watched while she put the spoon in his hand and pointed him toward a tray on the small table before him. In its middle, he saw a partially eaten bowl of porridge. Many, many variations of these actions played on his senses, but they all had him sitting in front that bowl of porridge.

Doctor Crusher guided his hand with the spoon into the bowl. Annoyed and puzzled with her, he glanced sideways at her, but he followed her lead and took a bite. It tasted of apple and was smooth and not runny, the way he liked it, but otherwise it was fairly bland and uninteresting. He felt himself eating that single bite in a multitude of ways that were all essentially the same. He took another small bite. It was too thick and dry to eat by itself. He spotted a glass of orange juice next to it. He took a drink from that.

The stars whistled and sang outside the ship. He listened to it. His attention briefly focused on a nearby pulsar (only about 100 light-years away) like a man discovering a shutter banging on the outside of his house on a stormy night.

The material at his throat felt wrinkled and bunched. He looked down and found a napkin tucked into his collar. Faintly offended by the idea, he reached for it, found a spoon in one hand and a glass in the other. He put the glass down, and pulled the napkin out. He heard a noise. He turned and found Doctor Crusher sitting next to him. She was staring at him. He stared back.

"Come on," she finally said. Puzzled, he narrowed his eyes at her. She gritted her teeth, she sighed, she rolled her eyes upward in a multitude of gestures of exasperation. Without consciously thinking about it, he knew that she wasn't actually doing all of these things; it was just the way he was seeing her. She reached over, took his wrist and guided the spoon to a bowl of porridge in front of him. He looked down at it, as if he didn't remember seeing it before, which he didn't. He sniffed at it. He didn't want any. He let go of the spoon. He started to get up out of his chair.

"No." Doctor Crusher stopped him. He looked back. She gave him the spoon and guided him back to the porridge. He looked at her suspiciously.

For the dozenth time she thought about feeding him intravenously. It would be _much_ simpler. But no, it was always better for a patient to eat normally when possible, and there was almost nothing physically wrong with him, at least nothing she could explain. And having made her decision, more than thirty-five minutes ago, she was stubbornly going to stick to it, and get that dammed bowl of porridge into him.

He put the spoon down.

"Look," she picked up the other spoon, "you haven't eaten since yesterday. I just want you to eat this one bowl. Okay?" She demonstrated by scooping up some porridge. He watched, but didn't pick up his spoon. She raised hers and aimed it at his mouth. Horrified, he hastily sat back in his seat and pulled his head back away from the advancing spoonful.

The door opened. He turned his head.

Doctor Crusher glared over her shoulder and saw her son correctly interpret her expression, visibly swallow, and shyly enter the room, followed by a more assertive Commander Riker. She dumped the spoon back into the bowl hard enough to make a splatting sound in the porridge.

"I'm sorry, am I interrupting?" Riker asked as he approached the table.

"Yes," she answered shortly. Then she sighed and sat back. "I know I'm late." She was supposed to have met with him ten minutes ago.

"I thought you might have been delayed, so I came down here." Riker scrutinized the tray on the table and its contents. He hadn't had time for breakfast yet. Wesley, having read the warning look in his mother's eyes, had been staying back, but now he also stepped forward to look. He held a medical tricorder that he'd modified for his mother to scan the warp field on the captain.

"He doesn't like the food?" Riker inquired.

"I suppose not," she admitted. "I don't understand why; I've seen him have this for breakfast hundreds of times. He started out okay, but he keeps getting distracted." She drummed her fingers on the table. Then she picked up the glass and gave him the orange juice. Picard held it and studied it warily. Then he looked at her as if he were wondering what she'd put in it.

"Come on," she encouraged. He didn't move. "You're supposed to drink it," she told him crossly. She gently tried to raise the arm holding the glass. He defiantly resisted her upward pull and sat up straight in his chair.

"That's it, I give up," she declared, throwing up her hands. She reached for the glass, intending to take it and the tray away. "It's the intravenous feed for you." He pulled it away from her.

"Look, either drink it, or give it back." He looked back at her, clearly puzzled by her open anger. "Okay." She grabbed his wrist and pulled his arm towards her to take it away from him.

He tipped it forward, spilling the juice down the front of her uniform.

She froze, utterly surprised. For a few seconds, his face looked troubled, as if he knew he'd done something wrong, and then it cleared. She grabbed the glass from him and slammed it down on the tray. Somebody laughed. It was Wesley and Commander Riker.

She glared at them. It had no effect on Riker, but Wesley at least tried to cover up. He didn't do very well. The orange juice stained her jacket and soaked through the material of her uniform, into her underwear, cold and sticky against her skin.

"Wipe that smile off your face, young man," she said in a tone that it seemed she hadn't used on him in years. "You did this to me when you were two and it wasn't funny then."

Ensign Crusher gulped and paled, the humor of the situation having suddenly soured. Riker stopped laughing, but he still grinned, his pale blue eyes impish. Doctor Crusher didn't notice. An idea formed from the meaning of her last words. She looked at her son, then at the tray, then at her patient.

Wesley, hoping to distract his mother's anger, looked down at the contents of the bowl and wrinkled his nose in distaste. "I wouldn't eat that either."

Doctor Crusher experimentally tested the porridge with a little finger. It had gone cold.

"Damn." She stood and picked up the tray. "Don't let him get up. I'll be right back." She hastily left the room.

As soon as she was gone Captain Picard tried to stand. Riker quickly rounded the table.

"Uh, the Doctor wanted to stay here." Picard shook off his first officer's restraining hand and stood anyway. Riker grabbed his arm when he tried to step back from the table.

"Maybe we should just wait until the Doctor comes back," Riker said genially, nervously. What was he going to do if Picard didn't stay put? Tackle him? Wesley had come around the other side of the table to stand behind Picard, but he didn't look like he had any better ideas.

It wasn't just that Captain Picard was his commanding officer and his friend that threw him off balance; it was degrading for Picard to be in such a position. And it made Riker very uncomfortable to be so near, or responsible for, another person so grossly impaired.

Picard looked anything but helpless. Even speechless and wearing blue, sickbay fatigues, he looked plenty intimidating. He scowled and tested Riker's grip by trying to tug his arm away. Riker held firm. Ensign Crusher held up his hands, one of them still holding the medical tricorder, as if to prevent Picard from bolting in the opposite direction, but he wasn't even facing that way, so the gesture was useless.

"Perhaps if you sat down again, until Doctor Crusher returns," Riker suggested in his most friendly, calming tone. He moved forward, gently trying to use his own much larger weight to nudge the captain back. A second before he put his full weight on it, he felt Picard's foot under his own.

"Ahhh!" Picard cried out, jerking his leg and the imperiled foot away, and almost losing his balance, but saving himself by sitting down hard in the chair behind him. Riker hastily tried to steady him, but got a stinging, accusatory glare in return from Picard.

The door opened again, and Doctor Crusher, wearing a fresh uniform and jacket, returned with a another tray. She set it down on the table.

"I think this might go down a little easier." She stopped. Picard looked the same as he had before except that now he was looking down at his foot. Both Riker and Wesley had guilty expressions on their faces.

"What's wrong?"

"Ah, oh, nothing," Riker and Wesley replied hastily and in unison.

Not believing them, she picked up a medical scanner from a counter nearby.

"Well, at least you didn't break anything," she said after examining the foot Picard was still flexing.

"He tried to get up," Riker explained. Finding no significant damage, she pocketed the scanner and merely frowned at the first officer. After wiping at a few resistant orange juice stains on her chair, she sat down.

She arranged the contents of the tray; a stack of small plates, a large bowl of cut fruit with a serving spoon, forks, spoons, a pitcher of water, some glasses and a platter stacked with miniature pastries. Riker, Wesley and Picard watched while she began laying out two of the plain, white plastic plates.

"When Wesley refused to eat when he was two," she explained conversationally, "I used to put dried sugar cereal in the tray of his high chair, and after he'd finished playing with them, he'd eat them, except for the ones he'd grind into the carpet later."

"Mom..." Wesley blushed.

His mother smiled back and laid a plate of pastries and fruit, and a glass of water, in front of the captain. Then she served herself.

"Care to join us?" Riker's stomach rumbled in response and he lamely tried to cover it up by clearing his throat. He retrieved a couple of chairs from the opposite end of theroom and he and Wesley sat down. Remembering his errand, Wesley handed the doctor the modified tricorder.

"Let's try this out," she replied after he'd shown her some of the new functions. He'd actually added parts from two different engineering tricorders, but he'd still managed to keep all the medical functions intact. His mother linked it to her remote handheld scanner and tried it out on the captain.

"That's wonderful, Wesley. Thank you. Maybe with this I might go into warp field medicine." The ensign smiled as if his mother had given him a treat, his mother's approval and interest in his favorite subject obviously more important to him than he'd ever admitted. Riker smirked and wondered if a much younger Wesley Crusher hadn't smiled the same way while his mother poured sugar cereal into the tray of his high chair.

"Wesley was telling me that you might be able to undo Ensign Ikainet's handiwork." Riker served himself a healthy portion of fruit and pastries, as did Wesley. Doctor Crusher had anticipated them and had brought plenty of extra food. She put the tricorder into one of the pockets of her lab coat and picked up a napkin to lay across her lap. Picard had picked up a pastry and after taking one cautious bite, finished it off.

"We at least think we understand the problem better. And we may have a way of solving it." She used a fork to stab a cube of melon. "The subspace charge that Ensign Ikainet left behind is linked to each individual neuron in his brain. So each cell is linked to virtually every other cell, which is why he has seizures: even a small amount of brain activity quickly leads to a chain reaction."

Riker glanced at Picard who was holding a piece of cantaloupe. He appeared not to know how it had gotten there. After another moment he daintily ate it. "He's not having seizures now?"

"No, the teracinym's stopping that. It suppresses brain activity. In fact, he should be comatose right now, except that his brain is using the subspace links."

"You mean he's thinking in subspace?"

Doctor Crusher nodded. "Yes. And I can't stop him from doing it, either." She narrowed her eyes at her son, who was wolfing down a third pastry.

"How do we get him to stop?" Riker asked.

"With any luck he'll stop himself. We've been monitoring him." She pointed to Picard. He stopped chewing when he saw her gesture and then a moment later made a "what-have-I-got-in-my-mouth?" face. "His brain is already trying to return to using it's normal pathways, but the process is slow and unfortunately the teracinym is inhibiting it. I can't stop giving it to him, or the seizures will come back, so I'm trying to gradually reduce the dosage."

"How long will that take?"

She sat back in her chair and picked up a tiny cinnamon swirl. "Anywhere between eight and ten days, if it continues to decrease. I can't be any more specific than that, because we don't know at what level the subspace charge will collapse." She bit into the treat, pulling its sweet structure apart with her teeth.

"Collapse?"

Wesley spoke up. "We think that there must be a minimum energy level that the charge needs to keep together. If it goes below that level it should disperse. We just don't know where that is," he admitted.

Riker nodded and addressed the doctor again. Picard watched the speakers, while occasionally taking a bite from what was on his plate. Wesley watched Picard.

It was so strange to the young ensign. He was acting like Picard, but not quite. It made him very uncomfortable. He recalled once when he was a small child waiting in his mother's office; a patient, who'd gotten away from the physicians, had come in. She'd looked normal, but she was apparently delusional, since nothing she said had made any sense at all. Wesley had frozen in his seat and stared, wide-eyed, while the woman paced up and down the floor, starting sentences one way and capping them with disjoint endings. He hadn't actually been afraid he'd be hurt, in fact he'd been fearful that anything he might say or do would harm her irreparably. He'd had a queasy feeling that he should do something, he just hadn't known what it was. So he'd done nothing until another doctor found the woman there with him and took her away.

He felt the same way now when he looked at Picard. Wesley earnestly hoped that his mother would quickly bring him back to normal. The captain had finished most of the fruit and pastries on his plate and she served him a second helping.

"...he's existing for the moment," the doctor said. "He's not consciously using his memory. He's just reacting to the things around him. Just like Ensign Ikainet."

Riker told her about Ikainet's new perception and her improved grammar.

"Ensign Ikainet gets the captain's perception of time," Doctor Crusher commented. Picard was staring at the fruit and pastry on his plate as if he didn't know where they'd come from. "And he's stuck with hers." She got up and went to a computer terminal.

"If we could just get rid of that subspace charge," she said more to herself than the others. Riker and Ensign Crusher got up and went over to look at a wall panel she'd activated. On it, the latest subspace mapping of the captain's thought processes glowed on a black background.

"You said it could collapse on it's own," Riker reminded. The doctor shook her head.

"I'd hate to have to rely on that. Especially if he tries something like what he did this morning again." She reminded him about the table incident.

"Do you think he might?"

She shrugged. "There's no telling. I have no idea what he was thinking about when he did it." She changed the view on the screen to a nervous system map of the upper body. "He can bring some of the energy from the subspace charge though to real space." She pointed at a yellow pathway from the brain down to the fingers of one hand. "The total charge went down by seven percent. And we're finding energy traces along the nerve endings in his right hand. He didn't actually get into trouble until he put his hand through the hole he made in the table and got stuck."

"Could we discharge the energy that way? Perhaps we could set up some way of safely absorbing the energy."

Crusher shook her head. "I'd hate to have to try it. He would have to initiate it and we really don't have any way of knowing exactly what form the energy would take." Wesley Crusher listened to his elders discuss the possibilities while he studied that map on the wall.

"Huh?" he started. Unnoticed, Captain Picard had gotten up and had silently walked up behind him. He heard his mother's exasperated sigh.

Picard's attention wandered about the room. He had a piece of nut stuck to his upper lip. Doctor Crusher retrieved a napkin from the table and wiped it off. Picard pulled away and scrunched his face up in distaste. The familiarity of the gesture amused Riker and amazed her son. His mother and Picard were old friends, but it still appalled him that _anyone_ could be so familiar with the captain.

"Now if you don't mind, I'm going to change the BWD on these fatigues."

Her two guests hurriedly excused themselves. The doctor ignored them, took her tricorder out of her pocket and pointed it at her patient's lower portions. Riker had been stuck for extended periods of time in Sickbay before. Wesley Crusher was, after all, the son of a doctor. They both had a very accurate idea of what his mother was talking about.

She tapped her communicator and called for Nurse Ogawa. Patients confined to Sickbay had many reasons to complain about the loss of privacy that their treatment might require. But bed-ridden patients complained most about the humanoid bodily waste disposal unit, or BWD as it was called. Neat and sanitary, it could be worn under most clothing for an indefinite period of time while the collection unit could be separately removed and replaced.

Of course, Picard wasn't bed-ridden, but in his present state of mind, or lack of it, he couldn't be trusted to take care of hygiene on his own. And being a seasoned Starfleet officer, he certainly would know what it felt like to wear a BWD and automatically know what it was for. The BWD used in Sickbay was almost exactly the same standard-issue device worn by away team members, for of all the planets in the galaxy that Starfleet might send its personnel to, most of them did not have bathrooms.

Riker and Wesley Crusher left as Doctor Crusher's assistant arrived.

Nurse Alissa Ogawa stood on one side of the captain, Doctor Crusher on the other side. Not able to comprehend what was about to happen, he looked from one woman to the other suspiciously, as if he knew something unpleasant was about to be done to him. Crusher took him by the elbow and pointed him toward the lavatory.

"Jean-Luc..." she began. He looked warily back and Crusher sighed, thinking about how uncooperative he'd been about a simple, little thing like eating. She nodded to Ogawa. "Let's get this over with."

**- - - End Part 12**


	19. Chapter 20

**DINNER AT TEN-FORWARD**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 13: ****Food for Thought**

"Hmmm." Data studied the words on his screen. It showed Ikainet's detailed report of her interpretation of the her contact with the Roocaroom. The pages flitted by on the viewer at the bridge science station. Next to him, at science station 2, Ikainet with mouth gaping, scanned all the logs and sensor records of the same event. Pages and pages of text and diagrams zipped past her eyes at an equally dizzying rate.

The ensign at the engineering station next to them rolled his eyes upward as he observed the pair.

Data finished his review and turned to Ikainet.

"This is most intriguing, Ensign." She turned to stare back at him with her over-sized, deep blue eyes. "Out of the forty-seven Roocaroom still remaining in the area, you have identified the other twenty-six of the known H'cars of Caro. This fact could be useful in determining their status." Data inclined his head toward a screen full of the latest sensor records. "We should also dissipate the subspace energy Captain Picard is connected to, before we attempt contact with these Roocaroom. According to these sensor readings, the Roocaroom in this area altered their orientations and power output whenever there was any change in the captain's subspace charge. As you have stated in your report, this energy is visible to you; it is no doubt visible to them. Any drastic change might attract them to him."

"Oh, they'll stay away from him. After what happened last time." She nodded vigorously.

Data considered this. Apparently, when Ikainet became entwined in the captain's thought processes, all of the Roocaroom had become similarly involved. The Human mind, which was not connected to a huge real and sub-space energy sink, had been far too free and convoluted for them to deal with. The horrifying and near-fatal (for both Roocaroom and starship) instability that had resulted had driven them away and had forced Ikainet to break her connection to the captain. it was only coincidence that Commander Riker had been firing a phaser at Ikainet at the time. The incident had also handily cured the Roocaroom of their taste for space craft. They had returned to their dust cloud and they were likely to stay there for a long time, according to Ikainet's preliminary report. Now all that remained to deal with were the bold few who stayed drifting near the ship.

"I believe we may exclude the Roocaroom in the outer system and proceed to our next task," Data told the ensign.

"We need to...de-energize Captain Picard?" she asked eagerly, her thought processes naturally landing on the activity that would involve the most interaction with the people around her.

"Doctor Crusher is in charge of that task," he admonished. He'd been referring to the Roocaroom near the ship, not the captain. "However, if you have any ideas or information that would facilitate the process you should tell me or Commander Riker."

"Oh." Her eyes shifted from side to side, her large eyeballs bouncing back and forth. Inwardly, she probed for ideas, which were very rare indeed for her. Carefully, she began mentally lining up likely events. Time. Cause and effect. Within seconds she had thousands of possible scenarios.

"I'll work on it," she told Data.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Commander Riker and Doctor Crusher re-entered treatment room 7 a few hours after their breakfast conference.

"Counselor," Riker greeted.

"Troi," Picard said back to him.

Surprised, Riker and Crusher started to ask what had happened but Troi headed them off.

"Will," she started.

"Riker," Picard finished.

She put her hand over the captain's mouth.

"What's going on?" Riker finally asked. He stood next to Troi's seat. Amused, Doctor Crusher went to stand next to Picard's.

"I've been giving the captain behavior tests, to determine specifically where his thought processes are being affected. Doctor Crusher and I thought that perhaps if we could get him doing something familiar, he might snap back into his normal thought patterns." She sighed. "I tried word association. Perhaps the act of speaking would get him to think normally. Unfortunately..."

"You weren't able to get him to stop?" Crusher guessed.

Troi nodded. Picard pulled his head back, seemingly surprised by where Troi's hand was. Since it seemed that he had forgotten the word game, she lowered it.

"Well, it's at least encouraging. It shows that he can learn things," Crusher commented.

"Yes, but not consciously. It took me half an hour to get him this far and I don't think he really understood what I wanted." She sighed. "He just isn't cooperating." She got up from her seat. Picard, sitting in the chair across the table from her, started to follow. Doctor Crusher stopped him.

"There is something that he can sense that is so interesting that he won't let go of it. And in order to keep sensing it, he can't focus his mind on anything."

"What is it?" Riker wondered.

Troi shook her head. "I don't know. I'm surprised he can make any sense out of subspace at all, but apparently he can. And he doesn't want to give it up."

"Well, he's going to have to," Crusher told them. She led them to one of the wall displays.

"I've gone through all the information we were able to retrieve from last night and correlated it with the data we've collected so far. It looks like whatever he's experiencing through the subspace links is directly related to his attention span."

Two graphs scrolled onto the black display panel. A jagged blue line at the bottom of its scale appeared on the lower graph, a red one on the upper potion of the display. Doctor Crusher pointed to the blue line.

"This is a measure of Captain Picard's concentration level. This," she pointed to the red one, "shows the subspace link level. These, " she indicated two spikes in the blue line, "are where the captain put his hand through the table and where Ensign Ikainet tried to sever him from the subspace charge. They correspond exactly," she pointed to two dips in the red line, "to sudden drops in the field level.

"In both cases he was subjected to intense pain and he couldn't help concentrating on it. In the second case the subspace charge almost collapsed on its own. So, perhaps," she concluded, "if we can get him to concentrate on something, he might snap out of it." She stopped and stared over Troi's shoulder.

Troi felt somebody standing very close behind her. It was Captain Picard.

"Perhaps we should take this to where we don't have an audience?" Crusher suggested.

They left Picard with Dr. Selar and went to Doctor Crusher's office. They were joined by Data and Ensign Ikainet. After reviewing what Data and Ikainet had determined about the other Roocaroom, Dr. Crusher had filled them in on what they had discovered.

"I suppose we could twist his arm until he gives up," Riker suggested.

"No we can't." Crusher, sitting behind her desk, vetoed that idea.

"What we need is something for him to concentrate on. That should snap him out of it," Troi said.

"We could fill a big tub full of ripe berries and put him in it," Ikainet suggested. Everyone else stared at her. She stared back.

"What?" Riker finally asked.

"Putting a person chest-deep in squishy fruit usually gets their attention."

"I don't think that would be appropriate, Ensign," Troi instructed.

"You think we should use chocolate sauce?"

This second suggestion was just too unreal for Commander Riker. "Ensign, you're dismissed."

She gaped at him and then, smiling, turned and left.

"I don't believe her." The commander shook his head.

"Well, I could try hypnosis." Troi offered a more reasonable and less organic suggestion.

"You think it'll work?" Doctor Crusher asked.

Troi thought about it for about three seconds. "No. But it's a place to start and would probably be a little less messy than squishy fruit."

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

A half-hour later, Commander Riker walked into treatment room 7 in Sickbay. Counselor Troi unhappily looked up at him and tapped the control panel. The screen of diffuse and swirling colors flicked to black. Captain Picard, who wasn't looking at it anyway, had fixed on Riker.

"No luck?" Riker had to ask the obvious.

"No." Doctor Crusher, sitting across from Picard and the Betazed, stated the obvious.

Troi shook her head.

"I'm about ready to take up Ensign Ikainet's suggestion and try pouring chocolate sauce on him," she admitted.

Beverly Crusher brushed her red hair back from her shoulder and imagined a big dipper depositing a fat, gooey glob directly on the captain's bald head. "He'd look like giant ice cream sundae."

The suggestion brought a picture of chocolate sauce dribbling down the sides of the captain's smooth head to the counselor. She smiled, pleased by the thought after her thirty minutes of frustration. Even Riker grinned.

Picard looked from one person to the next, as if he knew that there was something said that he should know about. And then he looked away at nothing, once again distracted by the unseen subspace world.

"We've got to find something that he'll automatically respond to," Troi finally concluded. "Something that he'd normally react to without thinking. And that will keep his attention."

They silently pondered the suggestion while Picard aimlessly scanned the room. Riker snapped his fingers.

"I know what'll do it." His blue eyes twinkled.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Ikainet stepped up to the bar in Ten Forward and waited to be served.

"You need something else?" Guinan asked politely.

"I'd like a bowl of...something sticky, please."

"Something sticky," Guinan repeated flatly.

"Yeeeeeesss."

"I'll bring it to your table."

A minute later Guinan carried a bowl of molasses to Ikainet's table. She'd been asking for things for the past twenty minutes. Pitchers of wine, extra plates and cups, cold pasta with and without sauce, plastic bags, crunchy vegetables and now, something sticky. When Guinan got there, Ikainet was using a funnel to pour the last of the wine into the one of nearly a dozen long-necked bottles. Each one bore a label that falsely advertised different vintages, none of which matched the synthe-wine that Guinan had replicated. The table and Ensign Ikainet were spotless. Despite her bad reputation with paint and glue, over the past week Guinan had learned that no matter how strange or bizarre she might be, Ensign Ikainet could fling food with utter precision.

"Here you are." She set the bowl down.

"Thank you." Ikainet finished her wine bottle, corked it and then pulled the bowl toward her. She began an exaggerated exercise of plunging a finger in and out of the molasses. A long, dark, vertical strand of the stuff stretched and broke repeatedly. Guinan stood there and watched. The oddity of her activity didn't surprise the Ten Forward host, but this project seemed to have an industriousness to it that implied a purpose, whereas her previous antics had just been random weirdness.

Guinan took a seat at the table.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Counselor Troi and Doctor Crusher guided the captain toward a chair, but Commander Riker stopped them.

"No, leave him standing. We want him to get the full effect." He tapped his communicator badge. "Mr. Worf..."

"Wait until I'm set up." The doctor released her hold on Picard's arm and set her medical kit onto the desk.

"Stand by."

Standing together in the living area of the captain's quarters, Riker and Troi waited while Doctor Crusher took out the tricorder that Wesley had modified for her, tested it on the captain and then checked her link to the medical computer. Picard looked out at the stars through the wide window ports of his cabin, then at the doctor, then around at the familiar mutely colored sofa and chairs and the dining table. He started to turn, stepping away, but Troi pulled him back.

"Okay, we're as ready as we'll ever be," Crusher announced, now pointing her medical tricorder at the captain.

"Mr. Worf, you may begin."

A second later the red alert klaxon sounded, along with Mr. Worf announcement of the drill.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

"You really like food don't you?" Guinan asked. She had just heard Ensign Ikainet describe seven different gourmet ways of garnering Captain Picard's attention.

Delighted, mouth agape, Ikainet nodded.

"It's great stuff! Everybody wants some."

The red alert drill blared through the room. Annoyed Guinan sat back.

"What? They're supposed to tell me when they do these."

Ikainet froze, then wiped her fingers on a napkin and got out of her seat. Around them the room rapidly emptied. People abandoned lunches and drinks and headed for the doors. Ikainet disappeared.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

At his station on the bridge, Worf monitored the progress of the drill. A hint of movement caught his eye and he briefly turned to see Ensign Ikainet standing at her red alert post at science station two. He frowned and went back to the alert status report on his board.

One-hundred percent ready status in all primary stations in fifteen seconds and sixty-percent ready status in the secondaries the Klingon noted. Acceptable, but not a spectacular showing.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

"Red alert!" Riker grasped Picard's shoulders and shook him. To either side of him Doctor Crusher and Counselor Troi blocked his way, surrounding him.

"Red alert!" Riker yelled again, but Picard wouldn't look back at him. His whole body shook with some inner turmoil.

""I think it's working." Crusher looked up from her tricorder. "His brain wave patterns are starting to shift back to their normal pathways."

"Come on." Riker seized Picard's head and forced him to look up. "Captain!" Riker yelled, demanding his attention.

Picard made eye contact with his first officer.

"Come on, Captain!" Riker's blue eyes bored down at him.

Picard stood frozen, his whole body trembled.

There was a flash.

**- - - Part 13 continues . . .**


	20. Chapter 21

**DINNER AT TEN-FORWARD**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 13 continues: ****Food for Thought**

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

"Ooooooooooooh!"

On the bridge, the sudden noise broke Lt. Worf's concentration and he turned again to glare back at Ikainet. "Uh oh!" She vanished.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Doctor Crusher picked herself up off the floor and went to where Commander Riker had been thrown. He was on the other side of the room, in the corner between the sofa and the wall. But when she bent over him, she only then realized that she'd lost her tricorder. It was lying in the middle of the floor where she'd dropped it. Riker moved and, dazed, sat up.

The door whooshed open.

The doctor whirled in time to see Picard staggering out of the room.

"Damn." She tapped her communicator. "Security to the Captain's quarters." Riker was already trying to get to his feet. Counselor Troi, who'd been thrown against the desk, was already standing and unsteadily pursuing Picard.

Doctor Crusher helped Will Riker to his feet and they followed.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

_Don't think. Don't think. Don't think._

The words went through his head like a mantra.

_What's wrong with me?_

That thought was quashed as soon as it formed. _Don't think. Don't think. DON'T THINK._

He knew where he was. The corridor outside his cabin.

Red alert.

_Don't THINK!_

Outside, the stars howled. Inside, the ship screamed. It yammered for his attention. He _had_ to get away from it. But he didn't know how. He didn't dare expose any train of thought to the hideous energy just outside his range of perception. It lay there crackling and waiting within him to leap upon anything or anyone he might carelessly focus upon.

_Don't think!_

He moved forward, not going anywhere. Uniformed bodies approached. He waved his arms and they backed away. He discarded any thoughts of them as quickly as he could.

The space before him ended. "TURBOLIFT" stared back at him from the barrier he leaned against. He shook his head violently, banishing the word.

His perception of space outside the ship twisted and deformed, but it didn't recede. Another energy pressed toward him.

The wall before him slid away and he fell forward.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

"Captain?" Guinan stared down at the back of his head in surprise. He didn't try to rise. Wearing blue sickbay fatigues and slippers, he stayed on the floor at Ensign Ikainet's feet, his head bowed.

"Oooooooooooh!" Arms laden with bags and wine bottles, Ikainet couldn't look down at him. She had a bowl balanced on her head. So, she just continued making "ooh" noises with her whole body jiggling slightly. Miraculously, the bowl stayed where it was.

Counselor Troi, Doctor Crusher and Commander Riker approached cautiously from behind. Guinan reached down to help Picard up, but stopped herself as if the air around him had shocked her. And in a way it had. She now quite vividly saw the very real danger that Picard and all of them were in.

"His brain wave patterns are fluctuating wildly," Doctor Crusher, tricorder out and aimed at Picard, announced.

Riker took a step forward, but the counselor stopped him.

"He can't control it." Troi spoke quietly, taking a step back. "He's still trying to hang on to it. He knows it's dangerous, and now he can't let go of it."

Riker paused, half from Troi's warning, but half also from the hesitation he saw from Guinan in the turbolift. Nothing, no situation, no matter how unexpected or dire, ever bothered the Ten Forward host. But now she gazed, perhaps even fearfully, down at Picard, not moving at all to help him.

Ikainet perceived the same situation, though not as a hazard. The sub-space charge that threatened to leak through Picard to real space wasn't dangerous to her. Even if it had been large enough to destroy the starship (which it wasn't) she would have been left behind, floating in space and looking for someone to report to.

But millennia of living among humanoids had instilled within her an unconscious instinct for danger to those around her, even if she was not imperiled. Reinforced by Starfleet training, the imperative to act materialized within her, driven on by her new awareness of the linearity of cause and effect, particularly the possible disastrous effect of a warp field energy discharge.

She needed to do something. But being a life form of few ideas, she implemented the only plan of action she had.

The bowl leapt into the air on its own and landed, splat, on the crown of Picard's head.

"Ensign!" Riker bellowed, his second of hesitation vanishing.

Ikainet stepped forward, her knees nudging Picard back. He sat back, his legs folded under him. His eyes aimed upward in the ensign's direction. But his gaze strayed back and forth, desperately seeking a place not to look at. A plastic bag fell from the items clutched in Ikainet's embrace. A fat stream of pasta and white sauce shot up out of it, hitting Picard in the chest and under the chin. He jerked backwards, surprised, the bowl slid off his head and bounced on the floor behind him, leaving a long dark, sticky stain down his back.

"What are you...?" Guinan reached for Ikainet, but the air about her suddenly thickened. An invisible force pushed her back into the lift.

Her remaining plastic bags plopped to the floor as Ikainet advanced. Green noodles in cheese sauce and linguine in red sauce spewed out at its stumbling victim.

Riker advanced. And found himself pushed back into Doctor Crusher. They both went down. Two security people finally appeared, running toward Ikainet. They were promptly thrown back.

"Ensign!" Troi yelled. Grasping her bottles in one arm, Ikainet had one of them raised over her head. Troi went flying backwards. The bottle crashed onto Picard's head.

"Ensign!" Riker got up again and struggled forward. Ikainet raised another bottle and brought it down on her target. Fortunately Doctor Crusher rolled aside in time, avoiding being squashed again under Commander Riker when he came sailing back again.

"You're a ship, captain. I'm going to christen you!" Ikainet pronounced loudly. Crash, went another bottle. Picard scuttled backward, crab style. He managed to turn, rising to his feet.

Behind Ikainet, coming out of the turbolift, hands raised in a peculiar gesture, Guinan, reached through the wall of unseen force around her toward the ensign. She was flipped up into the air and landed on her hat.

Ikainet didn't even turn around to look. She came in right after Picard, jabbing the end of a bottle at Picard's face, teasing him mercilessly before smashing it over his head. Behind her, Guinan rolled to the floor and lay still. Ikainet raised her last bottle over her head.

Picard grabbed her.

Troi, Crusher, Riker and the two security people ducked back from the searing, blue-white, hot flash.

They peeked up again. Picard still clutched Ikainet's uniform.

"Ensign! You're on report!" they heard Picard speak in an ominously loud half-whisper. Globs of pasta fell away from his clothes. Dark molasses dribbled down his head.

"Again?" she responded gleefully.

"Yes, again!" he yelled, his voice at full volume.

Riker got up, careful of new bruises. He smelled something burning. Ikainet still held one lone, last bottle, poised over her shoulder. Picard seized it and tore it from her hand. She let it go.

"What is this?" he demanded furiously, the blood vessels bulging at his temples.

"Sugar glass. Doctor Hearld showed me how to-"

Crash. Picard brought the bottle down on her head. The shattering, glittering shards exploded around her, having no more effect on the ensign than they had on him.

Picard released his grip on the ensign's uniform. The broken end of the bottle slipped from his fingers. Patches of uniform came off on his hands which were spotted, charred and black. Still glaring furiously at Ikainet, he took a step away from her and towards the commander. Riker caught him before he hit the deck.

"Doctor!" he called. He supported Picard under the arms, the side of his face squished up against Riker's chest. Pasta sauce and molasses soaked through Riker's uniform. Worf and two more security people came running down a corridor.

"Wonderful timing," Riker muttered sarcastically as he and Doctor Crusher lowered Picard to the floor.

"Put her in the brig," he ordered, pointing at Ikainet.

"Again?" Ikainet asked with her open mouthed smile, the front of her uniform ruined.

"Yes, again!" Riker yelled back. They took her away.

Pain stabbing her neck and back, Guinan groaned, certain that she had hat whiplash. The combs that kept her hat in place tugged painfully at her hair and its rim was crushed under her where she lay on it. Troi bent over her.

"Are you alright?"

Guinan moved her head the wrong way and every nerve in her neck let her know it. Her left arm and shoulder tingled when she tried to move them and she gave up the effort and lay perfectly still, her hat crunched under her neck.

"No," she answered sourly.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

"Jean-Luc?"

Picard opened his eyes. For a moment he didn't see anything but fuzzy colors and shapes, but they sharpened into familiar faces, above him and at odd angles. An intense and eerie silence surrounded him. Lifting his head, he looked for something that was no longer there. As if seeking something glimpsed at the edge of vision, his eyes darted from person to person. The movement caused a brief spell of dizziness and he let his head fall back to the pillow.

"Damn. It's gone," he half whispered.

Concerned, Doctor Crusher glanced up at Commander Riker before looking down at her patient again. Her fingers rested lightly on the smooth crown of his head.

"Jean-Luc, can you understand me?"

"Hmm?" His eyes focused on her and stayed there. "Yes, Doctor." For a moment he was puzzled that she'd asked such an obvious question. And then he remembered. "Damn," he swore again. He had a headache, and he wasn't feeling very well

"How do you feel?" Doctor Crusher asked.

He exhaled. The ceiling above him was plain and flat gray-blue. He looked down at himself. He lay on a firmly padded biobed, with a smooth, metallic blanket covering him up to his middle. The blue sickbay fatigues he wore were warm and clean next to his skin; they must have been changed. His arms and his hands were numb and completely encased in glossy plastic. The room and sounds around him seemed dull, dimensionless, and tiring to look at.

"Like myself, I suppose," he answered after his brief inventory of himself.

"Do you remember what happened?" He turned his head toward her.

"Yes." He seemed disappointed. "I - I could see space around me, around the ship. I could see, even _feel_ it," he told her, his voice full of wonder. "It was as if the stars weren't that far away, but I could still somehow comprehend the astronomical distances between them." His head fell back onto the pillow again. "Damn, I've lost it."

"We think that your brain was somehow connected to a subspace continuum when Ensign Ikainet linked you to it on the bridge," Crusher told him, her hand still touching his head.

"Yes." Picard's eyes widened. "That's when it started. At first it seemed as if the whole world exploded. Everything went mad all around me. And then it seemed to settle down." His eyes focused on the doctor again. "Where is Ensign Ikainet?"

"She's in the brig," Riker responded. Picard turned to him. "For all the good it'll do," the commander finished.

Picard frowned and tried to sit up. He didn't get very far; his body felt clumsy and leaden, his hands like blocks of wood. Crusher stopped him, her hands going to his shoulders.

"No, you're not going anywhere, Captain."

"Doctor, there are still other Roocaroom outside this ship, and unfortunately Ensign Ikainet is the only one who can talk to them."

"Fine. She can talk to them and you can stay here."

"Doctor..." Behind Crusher, Picard saw Lieutenant Commander Data enter and, after consulting with a blue-green uniformed med tech, he came towards them.

"Captain, you have third degree burns on both your hands, you've recently suffered severe neurological shock and you haven't had any sleep in two days. You're staying here." Data stopped and looked from Riker to Crusher to Picard.

"Captain?"

"Status, Mr. Data?" Picard asked over the doctor's objecting glare.

After a pause and a glance from Commander Riker, Data delivered his report in minute detail.

"...indicate that her assertions are correct," Data concluded after a lengthy description of his analysis of intraship sensors and his debriefing of Ensign Ikainet.

"Then Ensign Ikainet essentially discharged the warp field energy?" Riker asked.

Data nodded. "Correct, Sir. Ensign Ikainet, having sensed that the warp field energy affecting Captain Picard had become unstable, and unable to draw it off herself without injuring the captain, deduced that Captain Picard himself could be provoked into discharging it himself. Although deduced," Data reconsidered, "would not be an appropriate term to use for Ensign Ikainet. Her deductive abilities are quite minimal." Riker and Crusher both seemed to agree to this. "Reactive would be a better term to quantify her reasoning processes. Although she does appear have acquired the ability to perceive events around her in a linear fashion, she still treats all things related to single objective as part of a unified whole, to which she responds. In the case of Captain Picard's unstable warp field energy, she reacted with her proposed methods of focusing Captain Picard's attention on real space, which she was experimenting with at the time in Ten Forward..." Data halted his narrative.

Commander Riker was smiling at him. Puzzled, the android looked to the Doctor, who was just as enigmatically smiling at him, too. He looked down at the captain. Picard was asleep.

Doctor Crusher leaned over to the android and lightly patted him on the back.

"Thanks, Data."

Still mystified, Data cocked his head. "You are welcome, Doctor."

**- - - End Part 13**


	21. Chapter 22

**DINNER AT TEN-FORWARD**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 14: ****The Return of the H'cars**

"Ensign Ikainet is now 100,000 meters from the ship," Data announced, not taking his eyes off the Ops bridge station. Commander Riker stood behind him. Lieutenant Worf stood ready at tactical. Sitting back at the primary science station, Lieutenant Mahmood observed a three dimensional computer image of the Roocaroom around the ship.

"Begin, Mr Data," Riker ordered.

Phasers blazed out from the starship to Ensign Ikainet's immense gray trunk. Bright energy bolts leapt out from her to her fellow Roocaroom. The exchange only lasted about ten seconds. After that, a few stray energy bolts echoed between the Roocaroom. They abruptly turned in unison and closed on the _Enterprise_.

"Well?" Riker asked, peering over Data's shoulder.

"Commander!" Up on the main view screen, Ikainet's cylindrical form melted, shrank and dissolved into a blob of light. And then it disappeared entirely.

The Roocaroom on Mahmood's screen vanished.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Captain Picard opened his eyes. Something was poking him in the temple.

A bald head with large, oversized blue eyes, and very dark skin hovered over him. Picard started, fully awake.

"What?" A smooth, featureless, dark finger jabbed his cheek.

"Stop that!" he demanded. The creature didn't appear to hear. It kept stabbing at him with its fingers.

"Security, intruder alert in Sickbay!" Picard turned to see Doctor Crusher and Nurse Ogawa rushing forward. Half rising on his elbows, he moved away from the being's persistent prodding, but there wasn't anywhere for him to go on the high biobed. He put a hand up and found it encased in a gray, plastic cast that went down past the wrist.

"Stop that!" Crusher and Ogawa had grabbed the creature's arms, but it was completely immobile to their efforts. It didn't even acknowledge them as it thrust its arm at their patient. It didn't even look real. It wore no clothes at all and it's physique was untroubled by any unnecessary anatomical detailing. Its skin was smooth and as lifeless as molded plastic; it looked like a mannequin with big, Caroomadi eyes and rounded features and joints.

Something bumped Picard's shoulder. He turned his head and found himself staring at a blue-green Starfleet uniform.

"Ensign, what is this creature doing here?" he demanded. Ikainet, mouth wide open, stared back at him even more vacantly than usual.

"Ensign!" A movement caught his eye and Picard turned to find two more Ensign Ikainets looking at him.

"What's going on?" Doctor Crusher demanded. The mannequin continued to poke at Picard. Crusher got between it and the wall and tried pushing it away with her body, but it didn't budge. Picard hit the creature's arm with one of his immobilized hands; both of them were in casts. The blows had no effect on the mannequin, but his wrist started tingling.

"Stop that!" Doctor Crusher ordered as she continued to shove.

"Tell that to this thing!" Picard argued back, giving the prodding arm another whack. Something came loose inside the cast, a numbing, cool-wet sensation ran down his palm. He was backed up as far as he could; the only reason why he didn't fall backwards off the biobed was because the Ikainet behind him blocked his way. The two other Ikainets at the foot of the biobed mutely watched the one-sided battle. More people arrived, med-techs, other doctors, security. Everyone tugged and pulled on the intruders, arms and legs working hard, but the mannequin and the Ikainets were as immobile as stone.

The ship rumbled and shuddered. The lights dimmed and came back up. Everyone froze momentarily, automatically repositioning themselves for another jolt.

The ship rocked violently. Picard grabbed for support and then realized that he didn't have anything to grab with. Hands reached across him and seized the front of his blue fatigues and Doctor Crusher pulled him back toward her. Picard saw a flash of reflected light from above and then Doctor Crusher deliberately fell across him, her arms and chest covered him, pinning one of his arms.

"Aaaaagh!" He tried to spit out a lock of her hair. Something flashed and crackled above, but he couldn't really see anything except long hair, the doctor's body protecting him from the sudden energy discharge. He futilely tried to pry her off with his free arm.

And then she suddenly pulled away. The lights came back up. Picard smelled something burning.

"Doctor!" She staggered; her head fell back and she collapsed, her fall partially cushioned as she fell on top of Nurse Ogawa's body.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

"Damn!" Down in Engineering, Geordi LaForge swore at his instrument panels. He issued some quick orders to the engineers and technicians who hurried to their emergency stations around him. Red alert sounded.

LaForge looked up at the pulsating warp chamber; it's usual blue light carried a distinctively familiar trace of a yellow aura.

"Get out of there!" he yelled.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

"Report!" Riker demanded on the bridge.

"The Roocaroom have disappeared," Data answered, secure in his seat at Ops. "Ensign Ikainet-" Data's board exploded; the android was thrown to the side. Lightning flashed from Ops, catching the two Ensign Ikainets and the two unfamiliar Caroomadi who'd appeared on the bridge moments ago. The security people around them ducked for cover.

"Data!" Riker called out. Lieutenant Monroe stayed at her post at the helm. The energy blast from Ops flickered and ceased. The smell of burning, charred plastic filled the bridge.

"Damage reports coming in from all over the ship!" Worf called out, still standing at his station. Riker stayed put in the command chair, even though the gravity seemed to have steadied.

"Geordi, what's going on!" Riker demanded of Engineering.

"Ensign Ikainet's in the warp drive again!" LaForge yelled back. Hundreds of collective hours of repair work had just gone down the drain and would have to be repeated all over again. Lieutenant Barclay and at trio of other engineers at the controls watched their work fizzle and burn out again. As if to contradict him, the yellow haze looming over Engineering from the warp chamber faded and vanished. Power levels steadied as the computer switched to back-up circuits.

"What...?" LaForge asked, now furious as if the H'car had somehow guiltily run away from her deed.

Commander Riker stared up at Ensign Ikainet, who had just solidified in front of him. The _real_ Ensign Ikainet, he presumed.

"Ensign, what did you do?" he demanded, rising, towering over her, forcing her to back up a step.

"I asked the Roocaroom what they wanted!" she answered ecstatically.

"That wasn't asking Ensign!" he yelled back as if his shouting might blow away her cheerfulness.

"They want this." Excited, she pointed at the other Ikainets and the Caroomadi. They'd fallen into a stiff-limbed heap in front of the viewscreen, their eyes staring back at Riker.

"What were you doing in Engineering?"

Ikainet's smile faded. "They wanted that, too. I stopped them and told them not to." The sharp burning odor from Ops remained from after she'd "told them not to." Worf was listing damage reports in Sickbay, in Engineering, in Ten Forward and other places. Apparently, Ensign Ikainet, while she'd been in the warp core, had used the _Enterprise_'s power systems to relay her message to her fellows all over the ship.

One of the Caroomadi got up from the pile. The security people tried to stop her, but she just walked right through them, her body pushing them aside. Like a zombie she approached Ikainet and Riker. Her hair and mustaches were intensely purple, her skin was almost the same shade. She stepped on Commander Data, who was still lying motionless on the deck. A security person knelt over the android after the H'car had passed. The H'car looked from Riker to Ikainet with huge, unblinking eyes, her mouth hanging open in a smile that revealed all of her little yellow teeth.

"This is great!" the new H'car exclaimed. She and Ensign Ikainet eagerly nodded their heads in agreement. Riker closed his eyes.

"Oh no..."

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Doctor Selar entered Sickbay and calmly assessed the situation. She was the senior staff person present. Doctor Crusher lay on the floor with Nurse Ogawa, obviously injured somehow. Selar took charge. She assigned one med-tech and Doctor Hill to handle the incoming injured and prioritized the calls coming in from around the ship. Crusher, Ogawa and a man from security would be tended to first. Captain Picard was trying to get off the biobed to Doctor Crusher, and yelling for the bridge and not getting an answer since he didn't have a comm badge. Selar ignored him.

Of more concern were the three Ensign Ikainets and the naked, featureless Caroomadi lying on the floor. Selar mentally cut off any speculation about where they had come from and concentrated on the emerging medical emergency. After determining that they all had the same incomprehensible warp field, Selar and the rest of the Sickbay staff merely stepped over them as they worked on the crises that they could deal with.

The red alert ceased. The first injuries were arriving. Selar turned to see Picard climbing off the biobed. A man in a gold and black security uniform was saying something to the captain about staying were he was, but he clearly had little experience with treating patients and was unwilling to use physical force on Picard.

Selar left her patients and swiftly went to a cabinet, plucked a hypospray from the top drawer and quickly adjusted the setting on it. Then, with Vulcan agility she moved behind the captain and pressed the hypospray to the back of his neck. He half turned to her with a surprised expression before he collapsed. It was quite illogical of him to be surprised by her actions, she thought as she caught him. Patients were not allowed to go roaming about at will, especially during a crisis. She put her arm under his knees, her Vulcan strength lifting the human easily. The security man helped straighten the captain's legs on the biobed. She gave his vital signs a quick look before returning to Crusher and Ogawa.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

"All forty-seven of them?" Commander Riker demanded. Ensign Ikainet faced him in a loose approximation of attention.

"Yes, Sir!"

"All over the ship?"

"Yes, Sir!"

"We are receiving intruder alerts in Sickbay, Engineering, Ten Forward and the science departments," Worf announced. Not coincidentally they had appeared in the places of most damage.

"Well, contain them Lieutenant," Riker ordered back harshly. He knew he didn't need to worry about being angry with Worf. Worf expected it anyway. Lieutenant Commander Data was sitting up on the deck. He seemed to be relatively undamaged, but he had a voice processor malfunction, so he could only produce weird squeaky noises and buzzing sounds.

"Ensign, can you find all these things?"

"Things?" Ikainet asked.

"The Roocaroom, Ensign!"

"Oh, they're H'cars now in humanoid-"

"I don't care what they're called, Ensign! I want you to help round them up and..." He paused a moment to recall which hold had the least amount of toxic or explosive supplies stored in it. "...put them in Cargo Hold 4. Right now!"

"Riiiiiiight!" Ikainet swiveled around and went straight to Captain Picard's ready room. There were three more H'cars in a heap on the desk. The room smelled like burned insulation. Riker spotted what looked like the remains of Picard's computer terminal on a sooty patch of carpet near the wall. The H'cars stirred. The one on the bottom was another copy of Ensign Ikainet.

"Why do some of these things look like you, Ensign?" Riker asked loudly.

"Oh, some of them have never had a H'car form before. So, they copied mine, Sir." She seized a limb from each of them, tucking an ankle and a wrist under one arm. A foot stuck out from under the other. Then, facing the door, she heaved forward. They all came bumping down off the desk together and Ikainet dragged them behind her like life-sized dolls. The H'cars didn't object, though one of them waved her arms around a bit. Riker followed.

Geordi LaForge arrived on the bridge as they exited the ready room. He went straight to Riker and gave a brief report on the state of affairs down in Engineering. Circuits blown, components fused. Because of the short energy pulse she'd used to communicate with her fellow Roocaroom, Ensign Ikainet had caused even more damage the second time she'd gotten into the power systems than the first. And security had dragged four copies of Ensign Ikainet and three other H'cars away from the engine core. They were being watched in the brig.

"We're going to have to go back and do everything over again," the overworked engineer concluded, disgusted. "And I can't give you any guarantees about when we'll be finished."

Riker looked back at him sympathetically. Ikainet had only been a major pain in the ass to him on the bridge. But Geordi LaForge was the person who had to clean up her mess.

"All right. Do what you can."

LaForge started to leave, but stopped and then turned to Ikainet who was still clasping the arms and legs of her companions.

"I don't _ever_ want to see you down in Engineering again," he warned, holding up a threatening finger. "If you even get _near_ Deck 36, I'll have you thrown off the ship!" Ikainet stared back at him with open-mouthed surprise.

"Riiiiiiight," she finally affirmed, nodding vigorously.

"Right," LaForge grumbled, leaving the bridge. Riker turned back to the ensign.

"How many of them look like you?" the commander asked.

"Twenty-one, Sir."

_Twenty-one more Ensign Ikainets?_

Ikainet was looking at the other four H'cars, two standing, one sitting and one lying on her back, on the bridge.

"Help Ensign Ikainet take these...H'cars down to Cargo Bay 4," Riker ordered the attending security people. "Mr. Worf go with them." They left in two separate turbolifts.

_Twenty-one Ensign Ikainets? Plus the original?_ Riker shook his head, his rage subsiding into weary anger, and knelt down to look at Mr. Data.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Three hours later Commander Riker and Counselor Troi entered Sickbay and went to Doctor Crusher's office.

Crusher looked up hastily from her computer screen as they entered.

"How are you feeling?" Troi asked, her dark eyes concerned.

"I'm fine," Crusher answered back a little impatiently from behind her wide desk. Everybody had been asking her that for the past two hours and she was tired of hearing it. Her injury hadn't been any worse than a heavy phaser stun, but she'd still been out for an hour. She'd woken up to find Wesley sitting next to her biobed. She'd really appreciated his concern in those first few minutes after regaining consciousness when she was unsteady. But she'd been equally relieved to send her hovering son back to Engineering once she was back on her feet.

There had been fifty-three casualties, none of them severe, though several people had some painful burns. Most of the injuries had been like hers, people stunned by the discharge when Ensign Ikainet had abruptly usurped the ship's power grid to communicate with her fellow H'cars.

Troi and Riker exchanged glances. Doctor Crusher did not look entirely "fine". She brushed loose strands of red hair back as she wearily finished what she was doing and flicked the screen off. The counselor felt the physician's fatigue as she reported the final casualty count to Riker. When the commander asked if she was included on that list the doctor's temper perked up briefly, but slipped away before she grudgingly admitted that the only way she'd been able to escape Doctors Hill and Selar from officially taking her off duty was to retreat to her office while they and her staff finished with the remainder of the crisis.

"I suppose I am tired," she admitted, sitting back in her chair.

"You're not the only one," Riker sympathized.

"I've been hearing about our 'guests,' " Crusher said with a hint of a smile.

"They're in Cargo Bay 4 for now. At least they're keeping Ensign Ikainet busy."

"And Worf and most of his security people," Troi added.

"How's the captain?" Riker asked.

"Quiet," Crusher answered simply.

"Really?"

"Well," the doctor admitted. "Selar had to sedate him when the red alert sounded, but other than that he's been fine."

"Oh." Riker and Troi answered.

**- - - Part 14 continues . . .**


	22. Chapter 23

**DINNER AT TEN-FORWARD**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 14 continues: ****The Return of the H'cars**

Lieutenant Worf snarled. But the copy of Ensign Ikainet that was stumbling toward him didn't even notice the threat. She ran right into him. He pushed her away in disgust. She spun and tumbled and landed on her rear end with her legs spread wide. The huge numbered tag hung down on her chest and declared that she was Number 17. The confusion of having twenty-two Ensign Ikainets had led to Lieutenant Worf issuing the order for them to be marked. He had no idea who on his staff had come up with the large tags tied with ribbons around their necks, but it worked. The Klingon didn't care how ridiculous it looked. He didn't think that there was any way to _keep_ these creatures from looking ridiculous anyway.

He snorted with disgust and turned away when Number 17 didn't attempt to get up again. This was a vile assignment to be handed to a warrior: warden to a bunch of fools. It didn't matter that any single one of them could have destroyed the ship with little more that a careless thought. Obviously none of them were smart enough to think of it.

"Stop that!" Worf heard Lieutenant Wayland yell. He was doubtlessly shouting at the one in the sack-cloth. Not all the H'cars looked like Ikainet. And most of them could not be pushed around easily. More than half had some semblance of identity, having assumed humanoid form sometime before on their own. They had names of their own, but Worf had been too busy rounding the creatures up to learn them. The sack-cloth one had a nasty habit of making holes in things. She would extend a finger and poke it into the nearest solid object, leaving perfectly round holes behind. She'd sent one unlucky security person to Sickbay with a punctured leg. Phasers and physical intimidation were totally ineffective on the creature, but she was easily distracted from her mischief when people shouted at her, and they had succeeded in moving her away from the ship's outer hull.

Ensign Hollings and Lieutenant Wong interrogated the only four articulate H'cars in the group. Apparently they were the four H'cars who had gone missing from Caro when the Roocaroom had first begun attacking ships. There were others H'cars who spoke, but not in any language that could be understood. The universal translator had utterly failed to make any sense of what they were saying, nor were any of the four H'cars they could understand any good at interpreting for their sisters. Worf had put in an emergency request with Communications for information about any obscure, dead Caroomadi languages they could find. And then there were the few H'cars who just screamed or buzzed or hooted at random intervals.

The door to the hold opened. A H'car with bright purple hair came flying in from the open portal and flopped to a stop with straight arms and legs. Ensign Ikainet marched in after her.

"Ensign!" Worf ordered the ensign to deal with the sack-cloth hole-maker.

"Sir?" Worf turned to stare down at a junior lieutenant.

"Yes?" he asked gruffly. Lieutenant Moro paused, reminding herself that there was never a good time to suggest anything to a Klingon anyway.

"Sir, I've noticed that it doesn't take much to keep these creatures out of trouble. Almost any kind of distraction keeps them from escaping or causing any damage."

Worf looked down at Moro's suggestion with distaste. "Are you suggesting, Lieutenant, that we entertain these creatures?"

"No, Sir. But I'm sure the science departments would like to look these things over, scan them or something. And that could take hours, or at least maybe until they figure out what they're going to do with them."

Worf's expression changed to a favorably hostile one. "An excellent suggestion. See that it is done." Moro sighed as the Klingon left her to her task. She'd only been assigned to security for two months and it had taken her weeks to adjust to a perpetually aggressive senior officer. She'd dreaded approaching him with her suggestion, but then how could she possibly be effective in security if she were timid around her superior?

She tapped her comm badge to call the science officer.

Nearby, Worf watched Ikainet drag the hole-maker away from a punctured crate. She bent over the H'car.

"Stop that," the ensign instructed. The H'car poked her finger at Ikainet with no effect. Worf had an idea. He gruffly ordered his security team to bring the Number 17 copy of Ensign Ikainet. With some careful positioning and help from the real Ensign Ikainet they sat the copy down in front of the hole-maker whose legs were spread out wide on the deck. Number 17's were spread out over the hole-maker's legs so that they were pinned under the copy's. The front of their bodies faced each other, centimeters apart. The hole-maker kept poking, now uselessly, at Number 17.

Satisfied with having solved two problems with one solution, Worf left one of his security team in charge of the two.

"Blakox to Ensign Ikainet," an annoyed voice called out over the comm. Ensign Ikainet tapped her comm badge. It chirped.

"Ikainet here." Worf narrowed his eyes at the ensign. Something was wrong.

"Ensign, did that wretched creature that you just removed take my note padd with her."

"Oooooooh, she wasn't carrying anything. She might have eaten it."

"Lovely. Well, if she happens to regurgitate it, bring it down here. Blakox out."

"Ensign, did you get a new communicator?" When the errant H'car had vanished, Ensign Ikainet had immediately disappeared to go after her. But the ensign hadn't removed her communicator before leaving, and here she was now, with it intact.

"Noooooooo."

"Where did you get it from?" the Klingon demanded.

"Ooooh," Ikainet exclaimed, her mouth forming a round 'o' of surprise. She pulled the communicator off the front of her uniform and offered it to the Klingon. "I. Made. It," she answered slack jawed.

"How?" Ensign Ikainet was not supposed to be able to replicate anything as complicated as a communicator. Worf did not appreciate this unannounced change.

"Oooooooh. I don't know how to explain that, Sir." Worf growled. If she was suddenly able to make a working communicator, it was unacceptable to the security chief that she couldn't explain it. He examined the communicator. It looked normal enough.

"When did you acquire this ability, Ensign?"

"Ooooooh. From when I was in the ship."

"And you waited until _now_ to say something about it?"

"You didn't ask before. Sir."

If it would have done any good, even though it was against regulations, Worf would have been tempted to hit her. But it wasn't worth wasting the effort, not for a creature this stupid. He'd already tried his best on her with a hand phaser with no effect. He tapped his own comm badge.

"Worf to Mr. Data."

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Picard opened his eyes and saw a standard, gray-blue Starfleet ceiling. He yawned and lazily closed them again, and lay there for several minutes before he actually wondered where he was. His eyes opened again.

Everyone had gone. Sickbay was quiet, the lights had been dimmed. Picard lifted his head to look at the darkened diagnostic panels and central examination table, now empty and unused. All the excitement had gone.

He needed to use the lavatory.

Unhappily, he shifted his hips under the shiny sheet covering him. He could feel the BWD under the loose pants he was clothed in. He hated those things. Similar devices were a simple matter of necessity when going on away teams and such places where humanoid hygiene could not be properly tended to. But in Sickbay they represented just another invasion of privacy, yet another loss of dignity inflicted on incapacitated patients by the medical staff. He tried to flex his fingers, but he couldn't even feel them, immobilized in the plastic casts that lay at the end of his arms under the sheet.

Not willing to prolong the agony, he forced his bladder to loosen its hold and let the BWD do its job. There was no change to the sight or sound or smell of him; another person would have had to have looked at the medical monitor over his head to discover that he'd just relieved himself. Or perhaps look at the grimace on his face.

He'd heard all the theories about sickbays being designed to psychologically encourage patients to recover quickly and make them feel as if they were getting well. And that too much privacy could actually work against a patient's better interests. Picard didn't believe any of them. The fact remained that the architecture of Starfleet sickbays weighed heavily in favor of the doctors and against the patients.

He silently inventoried the most recent calamity. Where had the other Caroomadi come from? Was it a H'car? And the apparent copies of Ensign Ikainet? And what had happened to Doctor Crusher?

Picard lifted his head and looked around. A couple other patients lay sleeping on the biobeds to his right. He turned to his left.

Guinan looked back at him.

"Guinan?"

She smiled at him, but didn't turn her head; she just peered back at him out of the corner of her eye.

"What are you doing here?"

"Oh, just lying around."

Picard frowned at her glib answer.

"Actually, I got caught up in your food fight with Ensign Ikainet."

"What? Food fight?" This confused him for a moment until he collected his fragmented memories of his last encounter with the ensign. "Is that what she was throwing at me?"

"Um hmm." Picard barely remembered being somewhere in the midst of that fracas. The images of Ensign Ikainet bearing down on him, pushing him, her big eyes coming forward towards him and her breaking bottles over his head were fixed in his mind. Doctor Crusher. Troi. Commander Riker shouting. Red alert. Something landing on his head and dripping down his back. Things flying at him. They were all disjointed glimpses of what had happened. Overshadowing all of it was his immense sense of loss of his capacity to see into subspace. And then there was his sudden encounter with the mannequin Caroomadi.

"What happened in here? What happened to Doctor Crusher?"

Guinan told him about Ikainet's second adventure with the ship's power systems, the arrival of the H'cars and about her own neck injury, which explained why she didn't turn her head toward him. Picard seemed satisfied with her reassurance that Doctor Crusher was fine, but he was also puzzled.

"Were you here during all that?"

"Um hm. I've been here ever since they brought you in. You just weren't looking."

"I didn't have the opportunity."

"Never argue with a Vulcan doctor. They always win."

"Or any doctor for that matter," Picard confirmed. He turned his head and craned his neck so he could see the chronometer at the bottom of the medical display behind him. 0343. And it would be 0600 before people started stirring for the morning shift. He heard movement, footsteps.

A nurse had finally noticed his antsy patients. His name was Mollo and he had pale green skin, black hair and very long, slender hands and fingers for an Orion.

"How are you feeling?" he asked after a quick check of the medical monitors. His patients answered affirmatively, Picard a little sullenly. Mollo stood between their two biobeds and looked from one to the other.

"Would you like anything to make you more comfortable?" Negative responses. The captain didn't bother asking for what he wouldn't get: out of Sickbay. And he didn't feel like dragging anybody out of bed to give him a more detailed update on what had been going on. But Mr. Data didn't sleep.

"I don't suppose I could speak with Mr. Data?" He wasn't too tired, so he doubted that the android's narrative would put him to sleep again.

"Uh, Doctor Crusher left very strict orders that, both of you," he nodded towards Guinan as if including her would lessen the impact of the captain's displeasure, "were to rest until morning. And I believe that she told Mr. Data and Commander Riker this as well."

"I see." The doctor had won again. He stared up at the ceiling and lay his imobilized hands over his stomach. After a moment he heard Mollo retreat.

"Hey." Picard turned his head to find Guinan smiling at him. "It could be worse."

"Oh?"

"I could be stuck here alone without you to keep me company."

**- - - End Part 14**


	23. Chapter 24

**DINNER AT TEN-FORWARD**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 15: ****The Perfect Meal**

Commander Riker strolled through Sickbay. Things had calmed down somewhat, relatively speaking. With only two straight days of repairs needed on ship's systems and minor injuries all around, Riker felt that they were almost catching up. Even with a hold full of H'cars.

At least the H'cars had given Ensign Ikainet a full-time job which mostly kept her out of everyone's way. Riker had assigned her to tend to her fellow entities, while sundry members of the ship's science departments, assisted by a small swarm of _Enterprise_ security, scanned and questioned them. A few answered quite articulately; others, particularly the ones that had copied Ikainet's physical body, used the head-banging-on-the-walls level of communication. Occasionally some random event would inspire one or two of them to leave the hold and pop up in another part of the ship. Ikainet's task was to catch them and take them back to the hold before they could do any damage. Riker had received a scattering of reports of H'cars turning up and surprising people at odd times, but so far nothing had been damaged except a few people's pride.

A further complication had been added to the situation with Worf's discovery that Ikainet could now recreate a working communicator. And her uniform. And anyone else's uniform. And anything else that had a pattern stored in ship's replicator system. Preliminary reports from Mr. Data said that Ikainet absorbed all the information in all of the ship's systems when she'd gotten into them. Ikainet hadn't thought to mention this new ability, and she might not have even realized it was there until she'd needed it.

Riker entered the brightly lit private treatment room where Crusher had been caring for Captain Picard. The Doctor stood over her primary patient, who was seated at a table. In a second chair, Guinan, wearing blue Sickbay fatigues like the captain's, passively watched while Crusher scanned Picard's head.

"Guinan?" Riker asked, surprised. "Still here?"

"Talk to the doctor about getting me a parole." She nodded toward the physician.

"You had two compressed vertebrae in your neck, with spinal trauma," Crusher said without looking up from the scanner readings on her tricorder. Riker shrugged sympathetically. The doctor finished her scan.

"If you'll excuse me," Doctor Crusher got up and with a smile nodded toward Riker, the gesture seeming to hand her patient over to him. "I'll be right back." She pointed meaningfully at Picard and went to the computer terminal at the other end of the room to compare the readings she'd just taken with those from the previous few days. Blue lines on black showed the scan she had just completed. Purple on black were from the day before. All traces of the warp field had disappeared from the captain. None of the scanners that had been modified by LaForge and Ensign Crusher picked it up. She input some requests to Engineering about having the medical equipment modified back to their original functions. But she was going to keep the tricorder that her son had modified for her.

Riker gave Picard his report on ship's status while the doctor updated the medical logs. She matched up all the recorded data and checked the colored cerebral maps. Finally, after cleaning up the minor details that had piled up, she filed it and switched the terminal to "ready" status. Then she stepped over to the room's replicator.

"We informed the Caroomadi government immediately about the status of the H'cars. All they've said is that they'll 'get back to us' about what to do with them. They're keeping a pretty tight lid on the fact that they've got forty-seven more H'cars to deal with. They haven't made any kind of public announcement about it," Riker was saying.

"They probably don't want to start a panic," Picard speculated. Crusher took her order out of the replicator slot and returned to the trio at the table. She placed the tray on the table and slid it in front of the captain.

Picard stared at the tray. A bowl of porridge, buttered toast on a small plate and a glass of orange juice. Then he looked down at his immobile hands, covered with glossy, gray plastic. Crusher smiled sweetly back at him.

A grin crept onto Commander Riker's face. Guinan surveyed the contents of the tray with a pleasant smile on her lips.

"You have something else to do, Commander?" Picard asked shortly. Riker straightened and managed a half-convincing "yessir" before exiting. Picard's gaze settled on Guinan.

"I think I'll go talk to Doctor Selar about that parole," the Ten Forward Host said as she lazily got up out of her chair. "Call me if you need any help," she told the doctor with a pleased grin and strolled out after Riker.

Doctor Crusher spread the napkin on her patient's lap.

"Doctor, you don't honestly intend to go through with this." She picked up the spoon and held it poised over the porridge. "Surely there is some alternative."

"There isn't anything seriously wrong with you physically, except for your hands. Intravenous feeding is always possible, but it's never a recommended procedure if it can be avoided. Unless you plan on putting up a fight about this," she finished with just a trace of challenge in her voice. His back straightened. He put his immobile hands on the hem of his shirt and then quickly slid them down to his lap as he tried to hide his aborted attempt to tug his tunic down.

She put the spoon into the hot porridge and stirred it a little.

Slightly alarmed, he watched her and weighed the possibilities. Simply refusing to eat was not an option. Doctor Crusher would _not_ stand for having him go hungry even for a day just to preserve his pride. She had already stated the case against intravenous methods. His hands were useless and it wasn't worth the effort to fix him up with some apparatus to allow him to eat on his own for just the day or two before she removed the protective casings from his hands and wrists. But wasn't there some quick means of consumption? Some food supplement that he could down in a few gulps and get it over with? He asked.

She stopped stirring, but didn't remove her hand from the spoon.

"That's what this is," she told him calmly. He stared back. Then he looked at the porridge again. Yes, it was a smaller than average bowl, barely half as much as what he usually had for breakfast. It smelled fine, tasty in fact, but there was really no telling what the Sickbay food replicators had put into it.

"And the toast?" he asked, stalling.

"I thought you'd like some toast with it," she answered calmly. A sly grin crept onto her features. She lifted the spoon, a gobbet of cooked cereal hanging off its end.

"Come on, open up." He looked down at it with real dread. "Come on," she prompted again. His upper lip twitched and she pushed the porridge forward. The edge of the metal spoon clicked against his teeth as it went in, and then she pulled the spoon up and out, making sure that its contents stayed in his mouth. He swallowed. A couple of times. There wasn't any real way for him to chew it. It was a very small bite of porridge, but he had trouble getting it down anyway.

She came right back at him with another, slightly larger spoonful. He opened his mouth a tiny bit wider, avoiding the clash of spoon and teeth this time. It went down a little easier. She picked up the juice.

He perfectly well remembered what had happened the day before, albeit with a somewhat fragmented memory. And he vividly remembered yesterday's glass of juice. He couldn't fathom why he would have ever done such a thing. He'd just thought of it and it had happened. Her lips narrowed in a sympathetic grin, or was that deviousness? She was enjoying this. This was her revenge for yesterday's orange juice spill.

"You could at least get me a straw for that." He glared back at her. She stopped.

"All right." She put the glass aside and got up, returning a moment later with a freshly replicated straw. She plunked it into the juice and offered it to him again.

He trapped the end of the straw with his lips and sullenly sipped his juice. It was grapefruit juice this time. He released the straw and glared back at the doctor. Crusher spooned in another dollop of hot cereal.

Picard pressed his tongue into the offending cereal and swallowed. He had an embarrassing mental picture in his mind of himself holding his mouth open while Beverly Crusher fed him like a mother bird with a very large chick.

To add insult to injury, she dabbed at his lips with the napkin from the tray. He flinched back.

"Toast?" She held the corner of a crispy, golden brown triangle up to his lips.

"No, thank you," he mumbled out the corner of his mouth furthest away from the toast just in case she put it in if he opened his mouth too wide.

"Jean-Luc." She lowered her offering. "I know this isn't easy for you, but there just isn't way around it until your hands heal. With luck you'll be able to use them tonight."

"With luck?" he asked suspiciously.

"Well, maybe not until tomorrow morning," she confessed. "It depends on how quickly the nerve endings regenerate."

"That bad?" he asked.

"Yes, they're that bad," she told him. "Frankly, after what happened, you're lucky you still have hands at all."

All traces of amusement had left her expression. Suddenly his objections to her feeding him seemed terribly small and petty. It was simply something that was necessary, and his resistance only prolonged things. He nodded reluctantly. She raised the toast to him again, and he bit off the corner.

He had to admit to himself that he'd had worse things happen to him. He accepted another bite. He just wished Doctor Crusher wouldn't smile at him that way. He'd been seeing a lot of her in the past few days he realized. His fractured memory recalled many frustrated blue-eyed glares aimed at him. He'd just done things without thinking, and at no time had it ever occurred to him that he'd been acting oddly. The whole experience had a surreal quality to it, like a waking dream.

"Hey." Beverly Crusher was still holding up the toast.

"Sorry." He took another bite. "Just thinking."

"Anything in particular?" She held up the straw to him. He sipped.

"Just sorry I've been so difficult lately," he began carefully. "But...I wish I could have somehow hung on to that...vision." There just weren't any words to describe the experience. "Damn, I can't even clearly remember what it was like. I can almost feel it. What it was like to...touch space." His shoulders sagged in frustration. The doctor held up another spoonful. He took it.

"I suppose that's why you were so preoccupied. Is that what Ensign Ikainet sees all the time?"

"I suppose so." He sipped the juice she held up for him and finished the first piece of toast. "She's so different from us, Beverly. Her view of the universe is so...complex. So wondrous." He thought back on what he'd seen, space, the ship, the fragmented reality, Ikainet...

He frowned, remembering.

"What?" Crusher prompted.

"I remember seeing space, the stars, feeling as if I were somehow connected to it all. And when I looked at you, at anyone, I saw possibilities, different version of what you were doing, all at the same time. It was confusing, I couldn't make any sense of it, but it fit together somehow, like it was supposed to be that way." Doctor Crusher scraped together the last bit of porridge as she watched the intense expression on his face. He looked terribly annoyed as she interrupted his revelation with the last spoonful.

"But it was just the people that I experienced that with. The stars, the ship, the Roocaroom, they were...the same somehow. They didn't have as much variety to them."

"What about Ensign Ikainet?"

He shook his head. "She was like the stars. Static. She didn't have any variations to her at all. She was...immense, but plain. Empty." He gave her a slight, satisfied smile. "That's how Counselor Troi described her."

"You think that's what she sees in us?"

"It must be. It would certainly explain, with a whole universe around them, why she and theother H'cars found Caro so interesting."

"Or the _Enterprise_." The doctor reminded him of the other forty-seven H'cars in the cargo hold. She held up the last piece of toast. He bit off the end of it. It was a little cold, but still crisp and buttery. They finished the rest of the toast and juice in silence.

"Satisfied, Doctor?" he asked.

"I should be asking you that." She wiped his lips with a napkin. He grimaced.

"If you're finished doctor, I'd like to get on with my duties."

"And just what duties are those?" she asked him imperiously. He sized up the opposition to his escaping at least some of the restrictions of Sickbay.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

"Come."

Counselor Deanna Troi, wearing her usual V-necked, close-fitting, maroon body-suit entered. Riker sat at Picard's desk, looking over the current status reports from Caro.

"Counselor," he acknowledged.

"Well, I hear that the space traffic has resumed from Caro," she started out, standing in front of the desk. Riker nodded.

"We didn't have much choice. Nothing's come or gone from that planet for weeks. The Caroomadi had enough trouble keeping everyone from taking off as soon as all the Roocaroom left. Josat didn't think they were going to be able to keep a lid on things much longer." With Picard incapacitated, the decision of declaring the space in the Caroomad inner system "safe" fell to the commander. When Caro had asked for help with the Roocaroom problem, Starfleet had asked for and gotten absolute authority over the situation. Now that the situation seemed to be settled, the last official duty left was to lift the ban on space travel to and from Caro. There still remained the slight danger that one of the H'cars on the _Enterprise_ would change her mind and go chasing after spaceships again. But the starship had moved into orbit around Caro hours ago and none of them had shown any inclination to jump ship. A few very fast ships had left Caro and tested this possibility with no adverse response from the H'cars on the _Enterprise_ or the Roocaroom in the outer system.

Riker planted an elbow on the desk and rubbed his eyes and then his beard. He had managed to steal a few hours of sleep that morning, just a few. Troi, prim and regal as a princess, watched him in a detached, clinical fashion. She felt the weariness within him, the aftermath of adrenaline and emotions spent. He had followed the remainder of his duties that morning without being conscious of any end to them.

"I was just wondering," she began, getting his attention, "if you were going to go to your quarters to get some sleep, or just use the couch here." He stared back, taking a moment to sort out what she was talking about. Annoyance flicked within the solid body of his fatigue before fizzling away.

"I look that bad?"

"No worse than you usually do after not having enough sleep for three days," she answered pleasantly. He'd been going full speed on his own duties as well as filling in as captain since Picard had been incapacitated. But the crisis had passed.

"I guess I could take a break." Riker relaxed and sat back in his chair. Then his mood shifted. The weariness melted into amusement.

"Join me for a cup of hot chocolate?" he asked with an inviting smile.

She favored him with a half-suspicious return smile. "All right." He got up and they left the ready room together.

"Don't expect me to tuck you in, Commander," she told him as they entered the turbolift.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Two Caroomadi materialized on the transporter platform: a short, wide woman with bright lavender hair in pristine white and gray robes, and a tall thin man with thick, graying mustaches at the sides of his mouth.

"Zor Bitarl," Data greeted the first Caroomadi. She nodded and stepped down off the platform. Her companion followed more slowly as he looked about the scenery, his mouth agape in appreciation.

"I am pleased to finally meet you Commander Data," Bitarl greeted the android with a slight bow. "Ah, this is my assistant Lee Zetelas." Bitarl's companion, distracted from his appreciation of the transporter room by the sound of his name, stepped down cheerfully.

"This is really something, Zor. It sure tops that cramped little transport we took to Pacifica last season. Ah!" Apparently remembering something, he stuck his left hand out at Data who, after cocking his head curiously, took it. Zetelas shook the android's hand enthusiastically.

"This is how it's done right? I learned about it when I was on Earth a few years ago, but I never got a chance to try it. And after I heard that Captain Picard and Commander Riker were from Earth I thought I might finally get the chance."

"It is correct," Data confirmed as he retrieved his hand from the friendly grasp. "However, only a brief shake is required and usually preferred."

"Oh." Zetelas looked momentarily concerned before he brightened again. "You're right. I'll have to remember that. You're not from-"

"No," Data answered quickly, anticipating Zetelas's question.

"We are here to interview the H'cars," Bitarl interjected, distracting her assistant.

"Yes." Data ushered them to the door. "Your request was quite urgent. I assume it is connected with your investigation."

"It is. And I am very grateful for Starfleet's discretion on this. It is essential that certain parties do not learn too soon of the presence on your ship of the H'cars." The three of them exited the transporter room together.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Lieutenant Worf entered Cargo Hold 4. The H'cars were still there, including Ensign Ikainet. There hadn't been a report of any of them going astray for hours. The three teams from the sciences departments had obviously done their job of keeping these creatures busy. Worf knew, of course, that the scientists, engineers and technicians had their own goals and objectives, but as far as the Klingon was concerned they were there to keep the H'cars occupied. The only information that they might be able to discover that would have interested the security chief would be a way of physically restraining or destroying them.

Worf observed the knots of blue-green and black uniforms as they collected their data and adjusted their instruments and computer terminals. Wesley Crusher had some huge apparatus of sensor pallets set up which he seemed to be trying out on all of them in turn. There was a line of four H'cars watching while he probed a fifth one.

A H'car in a blue shirt and dark pants that Worf didn't recognize approached. Worf scrutinized it and the creature paused, obviously intimidated by the Klingon's expression of hostility. Actually, it looked like a male Caroomadi and Worf mentally corrected himself. He was obviously one of the two visitors that Mr. Data was escorting about the ship and not a H'car at all. A broad-chested female Caroomadi in white stood nearby with the android. She was also obviously not a H'car since she was carrying on a conversation with Data and Wesley Crusher while the ensign continued to scan his subjects.

"Quite a sight really. Don't you think?" Worf slowly turned back to the male Caroomadi. "I mean all the H'cars here. It's really amazing." Worf didn't like small talk and his face showed it.

"Uhhh, yes, really something..." The Caroomadi fell silent. Worf didn't feel like answering this person's ridiculous observations, so he didn't. The Klingon had been on duty ever since the H'cars had arrived. He had not gotten any sleep since they'd appeared. In fact, Worf had come to the hold to tell Mr. Data that he would be retiring for the next eight hours to rest.

Worf dismissed the Caroomadi still standing next to him by simply looking away. He wondered off back amidst the H'cars as soon as the Klingon's gaze had left him.

**- - - Part 15 continues . . . **


	24. Chapter 25

**DINNER AT TEN-FORWARD**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 15 continues: ****The Perfect Meal**

Captain Picard waited somewhat impatiently. His hands rested on a small table before him while Doctor Crusher slowly went over them with a tissue regenerator. Nurse Ogawa sat to one side holding a scanner close to the doctor's work. A free-standing computer screen that faced away from the patient showed enhanced details of the procedure while the doctor and nurse worked. Picard uncrossed and crossed his ankles under the table. He occasionally glanced at the work in progress. Parts of his hands looked perfectly normal aside from the skin being unnaturally pale or pink. Other parts were scarred and pitted. He hadn't looked too closely, but he didn't think that the index finger on his right hand and the fourth and fifth fingers on his left had any fingernail on them. He crossed his ankles again.

"Well?" he finally asked when Crusher had finished.

"Not too bad. Considering. You should have your hands back by tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow morning? I thought you said they'd be fine by tonight," Picard answered critically.

"They might have been, if you hadn't tried to use them to fight off that H'car."

"I didn't have much choice. I need to be out of Sickbay as soon as possible, Doctor. There are still—"

"Tomorrow morning," Crusher cut him off. Nurse Ogawa almost flinched from the intimidating glare that the doctor aimed at her patient. The captain glowered back at her, and then down at his hands, now encased in shiny plastic again.

"Data to Doctor Crusher." The android's voice coming from the comm broke the confrontation.

"Crusher here."

"Zor Bitarl is requesting to see Captain Picard. Would it be possible-"

"Yes, Mr. Data, I am available. You may bring her to Sickbay." Picard answered back loudly before Crusher could object. Her blue eyes fixed on him.

"Yes, Mr. Data," she answered.

"Acknowledged, Doctor. We'll be right there."

"Thank you, Doctor," Picard acknowledged her generosity. Ogawa started collecting the medical instruments. Crusher helped. She picked up a forgotten glass cup, half-full of a transparent, brown liquid with a straw in it.

"More tea?" Crusher offered.

Picard shook his head. "No, thank you." He knew that there was no rational reason for the Earl Grey tea that Ogawa had gotten for him should taste any different than what he got for himself from the replicator in his office. But he just didn't feel like finishing it. _It must have gone cold by now, anyway._

The nurse and doctor left with their instruments and devices. A minute later Crusher returned briefly to escort in Mr. Data, two Caroomadi and Ensign Ikainet.

"I am most grateful to you for seeing me Captain," Bitarl began politely. "Especially under the circumstances." She glanced around, the tiny movement of her enormous eyes acknowledging their Sickbay surroundings. She and her companion sat down; Data and Ikainet remained standing.

"Not at all. I understand you are in charge of the investigations into the administrative difficulties at Tungaras. How may I help you?"

"I am not investigating the administrative difficulties at Tungaras. The Ruling Council, I believe, has an army of auditors dissecting all the Tungaras records now. My only concern with the administrative problems at Tungaras are in how they relate to the murders that have occurred there."

"Murders?" Picard sat back in his chair. Without thinking, he tried to tug down on his blue Sickbay tunic and ended up rubbing the casts on his hands against his sides. He hastily put his hands in his lap again. "I'd heard that foul play was suspected in some of the deaths that had occurred, but I hadn't realized that that was the primary focus of your work."

"It is my specialty," Bitarl pronounced mildly.

"And damn good at it she is, too." The male who'd been introduced as Lee Zetelas leaned forward with a confiding smile. "She's the best detective on Caro; probably in this whole sector. Do you know that she-"

"Lee." Bitarl held up a wide, dark purplish hand to her friend. "This is not the time for recounting old cases. I believe that the Captain is only concerned with the details of our current case."

The captain nodded politely back to Bitarl.

"Yes, I am."

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

One of the doors to Ten forward opened. A couple of Caroomadi entered. They were very smartly dressed, obviously not any of the bumbling H'cars down in Hold 4. Commander Data followed and then ushered them to the bar. Guinan came over to speak to them. The Ten Forward host wore a green outfit with a hat of unusually small diameter. Guinan, having been released from Sickbay that morning, had been given instructions by Doctor Crusher to wear a small hat for the next week to avoid any possible strain on her neck.

"A formal dinner? Here?" Guinan asked after the Caroomadi woman had explained her request.

"Oh, we'll take care of all of the catering and the food and such. We just need the space," the tall Caroomadi male replied, his thick mustaches bristling cheerfully at the sides of his mouth.

"For dinner?" Guinan repeated carefully.

"If you would be so kind?" Zor Bitarl asked politely.

Guinan shrugged. "It's fine with me. But I think it needs to be approved by the captain."

Data nodded. "The captain has already given his approval. He will be assigning Commander Riker to supervise the arrangements."

"I'll talk to him about it then," Guinan told the android before turning back to Bitarl. "So, what's the special occasion?" The detective smiled, her mouth open enough for Guinan to see her lower teeth. On Ensign Ikainet, this expression conveyed her natural vacuousness, but Bitarl somehow projected and air of subtle mystery.

"We hope to trap a murderer."

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Doctor Crusher entered treatment room 7. It was evening, and she'd just come back from dinner. She'd intended to go to Ten Forward and have dinner with Counselor Troi, but she'd had to settle for a meal in her office when she'd found that the _Enterprise_ lounge was closed for some event that was to take place the next day.

The captain sat reading, catching up on the ship's logs for the past few days on a small computer screen. He answered her cheerful greeting gruffly.

"There's nothing wrong with me," he complained as she scanned his hands and checked the cellular regeneration rate.

"That's an interesting statement to hear from a man who can't zip up his own trousers," she told him without looking up from her tricorder.

"You know what I mean, Doctor. I feel fine. You've told me that I don't have any serious injuries, except for my hands. That isn't enough reason for me to be stuck here. I could be at my post-"

"Probably causing more damage to your hands."

"I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I do not need to be monitored all the time as if I were a child."

_Then stop acting like one._ The thought crossed through her mind, but she didn't voice it.

"I'm sure you can bear one more night here without too much hardship." Beverly Crusher tried not to sound too satisfied with his situation, and failed miserably. She got up. Out of the corner of her eye she saw his glare shift to grave concern as he watched her go over to the replicator. A minute later she returned with his dinner tray.

She presented him with a small plate of steamed vegetables, a quartered sandwich and a cup of water.

"Not again," he complained. She spread a napkin over his lap.

"It's only dinner, Jean-Luc." He eyed the tray and its contents. He looked trapped. She reminded herself that she didn't honestly like seeing him helpless. Not really. But Jean-Luc Picard was such a strong and private man that she couldn't help being intrigued by his genuine show of fearfulness of this dire threat to his dignity. Beverly Crusher privately enjoyed this rare peek behind his image, even as she tried to keep her facial expression as neutral and professional as possible.

"You _are_ going to remove these tomorrow morning?" he held up his immobilized hands.

"Absolutely the first thing," she assured him. He nodded reluctantly. She picked up the first bite-sized sandwich quarter and held it up for him. He took it, his eyes averted from hers. His lips just brushed her fingertips, and then he unhappily chewed the morsel.

"How did your meeting go with this Bitarl?" she asked to distract him from his gloom.

"We're having dinner tomorrow."

"What?"

"Dinner. The _Enterprise_ is hosting a formal Caroomadi dinner tomorrow night, officially to celebrate the resolution of the Roocaroom problem." He ate a bit of carrot from the end of the fork she held up to him.

"And unofficially?"

"Unofficially, Zor Bitarl plans to use the occasion to expose the murderer of four people at Tungaras, who is also one of the instigators of the observatory experiment that caused Roocaroom problem in the first place."

"Really?" His eyes followed the chunk of green that she next selected from the plate. He bit into it, she withdrew the fork and the green disappeared.

"Apparently," he continued, still chewing. "Bitarl doesn't have enough evidence to prove that her suspect did it. Most of the records were destroyed with the Tungaras Observatory and in an officially unexplained explosion at the university on Caro."

"What caused it?"

"The chief suspect was experimenting with the H'cars' warp field just after the Tungaras Observatory was destroyed. She might have been trying to determine what happened to the observatory on her own. But it got out of hand and three people were killed. They think the fourth victim was killed with a phaser or a disrupter to cover up the first three deaths and the real cause of the destruction of the Observatory, but they haven't identified the weapon yet."

"Who's the chief suspect?"

"Tens Bayairiz, the chief scientist at Tungaras in charge of special projects." Picard sipped water from the straw that the doctor offered him.

"Hmmmmm." Crusher put the glass aside and picked up the next piece of sandwich. "Wait a minute," she realized. "If the H'cars were involved in the first explosion then they'd be witnesses."

"That's why Bitarl came on board the _Enterprise_ today, to interview the H'cars in the hold. They confirmed her theories. Bayairiz was trying to learn how to control the H'cars warp field energy."

"Well, wouldn't the H'cars testimony give Bitarl the evidence she needs?"

"Unfortunately, a H'car's word isn't considered legally reliable according to Caroomadi law. They're perfectly willing to lie if somebody asks them to. There has to be some corroborating evidence to prove that they're telling the truth." Picard's eyes flicked downward and then up.

"Oh." Doctor Crusher held up the bit of sandwich that she'd forgotten about during the discussion. He ate it silently.

Doctor Crusher had replicated a chicken pate' and cream cheese sandwich and vegetables that she knew the captain was very fond of. He'd practically asked her for the next bite with that small eye movement, she thought smugly, winning her a small victory in her battle against his stubborn determination to be so affronted about her having to feed him. She stabbed another vegetable with the fork.

"Well, how will this dinner tomorrow uncover any more evidence?"

"Bitarl is hoping to pressure Bayairiz into confessing." Picard swallowed and accepted another bite of sandwich. "That's why they've been keeping the return of the H'cars a secret. After the explosion at the university, Bayairiz told the two H'cars involved to leave the planet so they wouldn't tell anybody what happened. And later Bayairiz got to the other two and told them the same thing. That's why they didn't return when the Caroomadi government sent them out to find out what the Roocaroom were doing."

"How could Bayairiz just order them to do anything?" Crusher held up the glass, letting him sip from the straw again.

"There was some risk to Bayairiz that the H'cars might have just decided not to do what she told them to, but Bayairiz apparently knows all the H'cars very well, including Ikainet. She has a certain amount of influence with them, and once they had communicated with the other Roocaroom the activity going on in the Caroomad system was enough to keep the H'cars interested in staying away from the planet."

"So, Bitarl is trying to shock Bayairiz into confessing. Over dinner." She fed Picard the last bite of sandwich.

"Something like that," he muttered with disapproval. "It's ridiculous."

"Oh? It sounds like the sort of thing Dixon Hill might get involved in." She referred to a holodeck character Picard occasionally played, a twentieth century gumshoe whose business was solving melodramatic mysteries.

"Dixon Hill isn't here," he answered humorlessly. She gave him the last piece of carrot. "This isn't a game. I'm only indulging Bitarl in this dinner because Dule Josat and two members of the ruling council practically begged me to let her have her way. It seems she's done some significant favors in high places on Caro in the past." He frowned back at her. Then he turned his head to look at the empty plate on the tray. Doctor Crusher thought she saw a trace of disappointment cross his face.

"Would you like some desert?"

"No," he answered quickly. Then he sat back and sighed, obviously relieved that he'd completed the meal. He put his immobilized hands to his waist in another aborted attempt to pull his shirt down into place. Crusher smiled. He'd been doing that all day. Her open amusement annoyed him and he glowered back at her.

"I don't suppose you'd let me use the lavatory on my own?"

"I'm not sure how you'd be able to manage it," she returned pleasantly. "But since you bring it up, I do need to change that BWD." His face clouded over. She dropped her smile, the friendly tone left her voice.

"Unless you think I'll need Alissa's help again. Like yesterday," she reminded him.

"I don't suppose it's possible that doctors really enjoy having absolute power over their patients," he challenged.

"They at least don't enjoy wallowing in their own wounded pride over dealing with simple bodily functions that they can't do anything about."

He looked away. And then lowered his head and audibly exhaled. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for," he apologized just loud enough for her to hear.

She stood and touched his shoulder, but he didn't look up. "Do what you need to do now. I'll be back in a minute." She picked up the tray and left the room. She put it in the nearest replicator slot down the hall and waited the few minutes she thought she needed to cool off. A passing med-tech glanced her way, but she didn't acknowledge him and he hurried on.

She'd been a close friend of Jean-Luc Picard's for a long time. Close enough so that they could get really angry with each other. She didn't enjoy arguing with him at all. But she wouldn't back away from them, and she wasn't going to put up with any of his pretentious bravado either. Mercifully, when they did argue, the flare-ups didn't last long, neither one of them thinking less of the other afterwards. In fact, she admired Jean-Luc's patience with putting up with her temper.

She went back to Treatment Room 7. Picard was still sitting where he had been when she'd left.

"Ready?"

He grunted an affirmative and stood up. They went to the room's lavatory.

"I don't suppose you've had this done to you?"

"Yes I have," she affirmed. "I've been stuck in a few sickbays myself. And I had to do this in medical school." He stood in the middle of the small room facing the mirror, with his feet shoulder-width apart. He knew the routine. She ordered a fresh BWD from the replicator.

"Medical school?" he asked as she pulled his blue pants down past his knees.

"Yup. The class was called 'Humanoid Hygiene'. We had to wear these for a week. And we weren't allowed to change our own. We had to take turns with everyone else in the class." She pulled apart the clasps at his hips and then tugged downward. The BWD fell away from him and she tossed it into the disposal. Then she picked up the surface sterilizer, set it to a wide beam and pointed it his rear end. He twitched, but didn't move his feet. Sterilizers always produced a prickly sensation, especially in the more sensitive areas of the body. When she finished there, she went around to his front.

"Believe me Jean-Luc," she assured him. "You haven't lived until you've had this done to you by a bunch of medical students who are just learning how." She thought she glimpsed a hint of sympathy in his eyes for her, just before she turned on the sterilizer again.

When she finished there, she put the sterilizer back in its slot and picked up the new BWD. He wiggled his hips as she fastened and adjusted it on him. She thought it was a shame that she was so clinical about anatomy. Otherwise, she might have appreciated his physique more. Picard was in very good shape; he had nice slender hips and an attractive rear end. But intense professional taboos and her own personal ethics barred her from savoring the view too much. She had decided long ago that if there was to be any change to how she looked at him on a personal level _he_ would have to be the one to say something about it first. _Then_ she'd think about it.

"How's that?" she asked. The BWD on him looked like nothing more than a bulky pair of underwear.

"Fine," he answered, unclenching his teeth, thankful that the indignity was over with. Simultaneously intimate and repulsive, sessions like these made him hot and cold with conflicting sentiments. He felt closer to Beverly Crusher-far closer than he was ever willing to admit to her-than anyone else on the ship. But the intensity of this closeness slammed hard into the utter loathing he felt for such degrading situations.

She pulled his pants back up and adjusted the elastic around his waist. Standing behind him she saw his face in the mirror relax in relief. He sighed. He raised his hands. But before he could try and fail again she reached around his middle, grasped the hem of his tunic and gave it brisk tug downward.

**- - - End Part 15**


	25. Chapter 26

**DINNER AT TEN-FORWARD**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 16: ****H'cars on Board**

The trio of caterers surveyed the room and muttered to themselves by the view ports, Caro's clouded green-brown globe filled the port side.

"The view is superb..."

"But the place is only equipped with replicators..."

"The food will have to be prepared in another room and assembled here..."

"And the lighting from the tables; people will go blind while they're eating..."

Commander Riker stood away from the group and left them to their conference. They were the advance team from the God's Temple Catering Service, there to evaluate the _Enterprise_'s facilities for the next night's dinner. A small group of others were precisely measuring the room with light devices. Riker had given them all the building specs, but apparently they didn't trust the ship's own floor plans and wanted to make their own evaluations. Four ship's personnel helped them as they worked. Measuring, drawing up the list of guests, designing menus and seating arrangements. Apparently dinner didn't just mean serving food, it also called for an emergency redecorating job. On Caro, apparently the setting for a meal was as important as the food itself.

Riker mentally corrected this last thought. Just because the official representatives of a planet did things one way, that did not mean that this was the standard for the whole culture. If there even was anything like a cultural standard.

Being on a spaceship that did not stay in any place for long tended to give anyone a very one-dimensional view of any of the places they had been. Starfleet devoted a lot of training time to teaching its officers to get as broad a view as possible of any alien culture they came into contact with. Or at the very least recognize that two weeks was not enough time to learn any more than a thin fraction of what any culture was like. Riker had once met an Andorian who'd just returned from a visit to Earth and was convinced that all of Earth civilization could be found in a shopping mall. Nothing that Will Riker, who'd been born and raised on Earth, said could convince this Andorian to rethink her opinions. The commander reminded himself of this encounter every time he found himself pre-judging a people he didn't really know.

The trio by the view ports broke up. From them, a tall, elegant Caroomadi woman with dark blue hair and eyes approached him.

_And,_ Riker reminded himself. _The Caroomadi themselves are __nothing__ like Ensign Ikainet._

"We just might be able to do this," she announced. She'd been introduced to him as Lorn Kel.

"Then you find the accommodations satisfactory?"

"Oh, your people have been wonderful!" she assured him. "I just would have appreciated a little more than a day's notice for holding a full, formal dinner on a spaceship in orbit that we've never seen before."

"Well, your people seem to be pretty organized. I'm sure you can pull it off."

"Thank you. I'm sure we can, too. Just. But this is going to cost the government extra." She pushed back a long lock of her dark blue hair and tilted her head at him. "I have a few details to check with you." She took out a large notepadd, a long glowing list on it. "But first..." She paused cautiously. "Will any of the H'cars be attending?"

"I don't have any information about them. Sorry," Riker lied. The Caroomadi government had been very specific about wanting as few people as possible to know about the H'cars in Hold 4.

"It...could affect our plans significantly, for example, if the Ikainet were to be available to prepare any of the food." Riker paused at the word "the" used in front of Ensign Ikainet's name; a remnant, he supposed, of her former god-hood.

"I couldn't say anything about that," the commander answered truthfully this time.

"There's just been a lot of speculation about how you got the Roocaroom out of the inner orbit and what happened to the H'cars..." Kel wondered out loud. Riker just smiled benignly at her. "Right," she concluded. "I'll just assume they won't be attending." No response. "Right." She checked something off on her list with a stylus.

Kel led Riker over to a table where an elaborate place setting had been laid out. She went through a long list of Caroomadi rules of etiquette with him for his approval or disapproval.

Yes, tongs were an acceptable eating utensil.

Yes, finger food would not offend anyone.

No, the guests would not like to have their food flipped, tossed or squirted to their plates from a distance of any greater than ten centimeters.

Yes, each course of the meal could be served on a separate plate.

No, inflammatory food preparations that included juggling would not be advisable.

Yes, food sculptures were fine.

No, the guests would probably not appreciate a stylistic re-enactment by the chefs of how the food had been slain, grown or manufactured.

Etc, etc...

"Well, you look like you're prepared for just about anything," Riker commented when they finally got to the end of the list.

"We're here to serve," she said cheerfully. "Looks like this will be just a standard diplomatic dinner, with no floor show," she amended, borrowing a phrase that he'd used while they were going down the list.

"If it's all right with you? Starfleet is always flexible on matters of etiquette."

"Well, it's nice when the chef can be an active participant of the meal. But nothing on this list is sacred, Commander. Doing it this way will be fine."

"Is there anything else?"

"Yes." Kel went back to her list.

"We have a list of all the guests and what species they are. And the list of any food allergies your people have. Thank you for including that, Commander. You can't imagine how many people don't think of things like that. But..." Her long, pale, gold-ringed finger stopped at the bottom of her note padd. "What do 'androids' eat?"

"Oh, Mr. Data can eat anything we do."

Her eyelids lowered slightly over her huge, china-doll eyes. "But does he have any preferences?"

Riker shook his head. "No, I don't think so." She looked doubtful of his answer, but she marked that item off anyway. She contemplated her list for some time while the commander watched her. He mentally corrected himself again for unconsciously using Ensign Ikainet as a standard for prejudging all Caroomadi.

"Well, I think that's everything for now." She tilted her head again. Was that the Caroomadi equivalent of a sigh, Riker wondered. "I'm going to be up all night working on this." Riker stood next to her, looking down at her notepadd. She picked it up. Her fingers gently brushed the back of his hand and his wrist as she did so. "But after dinner tomorrow, I suppose I'll be free." He looked at her slender figure, her delicate facial feature, her enormous blue eyes. She stood very close to him, her hips almost touching him.

Riker raised an eyebrow and she returned a slightly open-mouthed smile.

"Would you be available for some dessert, Commander?"

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Very early in the morning in Sickbay, Captain Picard faced Doctor Crusher over a small table.

"Now." She laid her hands across his palms. Picard had very large hands; they easily dwarfed Beverly Crusher's small, slender ones. "Take my hands and squeeze." His fingers curled around hers. "Harder," she told him. He focussed on the task, but his grip still seemed terribly weak. Doctor Crusher certainly wasn't experiencing any discomfort from it.

"That's good." She sounded pleased.

"They don't feel good."

"Well, they'll be better by this afternoon. Trust me." He still looked unsatisfied. She patted one of his hands and called for her assistant. A moment later Nurse Ogawa appeared carrying a bundle of clothes and a pair of boots. To Doctor Crusher, Picard looked as if she'd brought him a present when he saw the black and red uniform. Ogawa put it on the table and left.

"I trust you can handle this by yourself?" She slid the clothes over to him. He gathered them up in his arms and got up.

"Thank you, Doctor."

"And Jean-Luc..." He stopped. "Don't overdo it," she warned him to be careful about his hands when taking off the fatigues, and the BWD.

"Trust me, Doctor," he replied and disappeared into the lavatory.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Lieutenant Worf strolled into Mr. Mot's "parlor", as the _Enterprise_ barber liked to call it. The H'cars in the hold were secure, or as secure as they could ever be. All of the dinner preparations and guests had been checked, twice. There was time enough now to tend to his appearance for the formal dinner he would be required to attend that evening. No one on the _Enterprise_ would have dared called Worf vain to his face. But it took a lot of careful work for the Klingon to keep his beard and long mustaches trimmed perfectly, his fine, wing-like eyebrows combed, his hair tidy. Worf was a regular customer of Mr. Mot, who felt it only natural that the demanding security chief would prefer his craftsmanship over others.

"There's nothing wrong with the clipper. It's just not designed to cut this." The Klingon heard LaForge's exasperated voice, the tones climbing to higher frequencies that the Klingon found irritating.

Worf turned the corner. LaForge stood facing Mot who brandished a large phaser clipper. A small brown-haired man with a pony-tail stood to the side of them. In the center, sitting in Mot's chair was Ensign Ikainet.

"Is there a problem?" Worf rumbled. Mot and LaForge stopped facing each other off over the barber chair.

"Oh, he's trying to cut Ensign Ikainet's hair," the brown-haired man piped up. Worf identified him as Cercy; he worked in the same sociology lab that Ensign Ikainet did. The Klingon stepped forward and looked down at the H'car.

"I thought Captain Picard ordered you not to change your appearance."

Cercy answered again. "Oh, we weren't trying for anything that drastic. We just-"

"I wasn't asking you." Cercy shut up. "Well, Ensign?"

"Cercy suggested that we should style my hair differently for dinner tonight."

"And that's the problem," Mot declared. "How can I possibly do _anything_ with this hopeless mess." Mot grasped a lock of purple hair and held it up. "Without trimming it first. It's uneven. It's uncombed. It doesn't have a decent part. And Commander LaForge here has been going on about how I'm not allowed to cut it."

"It's not that you aren't allowed to. It just isn't physically possible," LaForge insisted. "Each individual hair on her head has it's own individual force field. You can't cut it. You've already tried everything you have here."

"Well, I just don't have anything strong enough here. That doesn't mean it can't be done. I once trimmed the scales on a-"

"Enough!" Worf was not in the mood for wasting any time on such a petty argument. "Mr. Mot, Commander LaForge is correct. It would be impossible for you to trim Ensign Ikainet's hair."

"Now you two may be fine Starfleet officers. But it's obvious to me that you don't know a thing about hair, and..." Mot argued on, armed with only the simple knowledge that for hair to be correctly styled, it needed first to be correctly cut. The barber neither recognized the importance, nor understood anything of a technical nature. So, if the laws of physics dictated that his clippers and laser cutters could not cut through a warp field, he took that as a personal affront to his skill as a barber.

"It doesn't matter what you use..." Geordi LaForge was as incapable of understanding Mot's total ignorance of simple physical principles as Mot was of appreciating the nature of Ikainet's impervious hair.

"Maybe you should just tie it up like mine..." Cercy was equally in the dark about why they were arguing at all and kept trying to steer them toward what he saw as the simplest solution.

"I don't want to cut her warp field," Mot finally declared. "I want to trim her hair. So if that's what's causing all this fuss, then I think we'll all be a lot happier if Ensign Ikainet would get it out of the way. At least from her hair."

"Oooooooh!" Ikainet exclaimed, bouncing upright. Unfortunately, a couple of centuries ago, a Caroomadi physicist, who was tasked with studying the H'car's structure, had made a very similar request.

"Aaaaah!" Mot practically screamed. Cercy and LaForge stepped back as well.

The rear and upper portions of Ensign Ikainet's head had melted into a vile, black oozing mass. Without the warp field to sustain its shape, her skull collapsed and reverted back to the many-times-re-replicated compressed organic matter that the H'cars had originally used to form their bodies, in a fashion similar to the way that they used dust and cosmic debris in space.

"Damn!" LaForge swore. Everyone covered their noses, even Worf. The stench of thousands of years of decay filled the room. With his VISOR enhanced vision, LaForge could just glimpse through the muck the new outline of the faint glow that he usually saw around the H'car. The warp field around her head hadn't vanished, it had merely retreated, as if it had been sucked in from the back of her head.

Ikainet was entirely unaffected by the change. Gobbets of black slime covered her shoulders and ran down her back. She looked from one to the other of her fellows, as if awaiting their approval. Mot backed away, speechless. In all his years as a contract barber with Starfleet, among all the different species he had tended, Mot had never, ever seen a hairstyle go so horribly wrong.

"Ensign! You will return to your normal shape immediately!" Worf bellowed. At once, Ikainet's purple hair returned. The black oozed glowed and vanished. But the smell still lingered.

The large security chief towered over Ikainet. Mot, Cercy and even LaForge, who considered Worf to be a friend of his, backed up a respectful pace. But the ensign remained as unintimidated and as clueless as ever.

"I think that it would be best if you appeared at dinner as you are."

"But-" Worf cut Mot's comment off with one evil glare.

"That's a good idea," Cercy agreed quickly.

"Uh, yeah," LaForge concurred.

"Of course, of course." Mot removed the cloth from around Ikainet's neck and hustled her out of his chair. "You look wonderful the way you are, Ensign," he hurriedly declared. "Now go on and do your duty." Cercy and LaForge got caught up in the exodus and went with the H'car. LaForge had actually come in to get his own hair trimmed, but he'd wasted most of the time he'd allotted for it arguing with Mot over clipping warp fields.

The door closed behind the three of them, and Mot breathed a great sigh of relief. Then he turned around and started.

Worf was still standing there, glowering at him.

The Klingon slowly and deliberately sat down in the barber chair and waited to be attended to by the barber. Mot gulped and bravely stepped forward.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

The wide, bulky doors parted and Captain Picard entered Cargo Hold 4. The bustling of dozens of people and H'cars filed the large echoing room.

The captain circled the activity, staying out of the way of the science teams and their subjects. Each H'car or group of H'cars was tended by at least one or two science or security personnel. Someone had had the clever idea of tying the Ikainet copies together into groups of twos and threes. They were uncoordinated by themselves; tied together they were nearly immobile and effectively kept out of trouble. Picard frowned. It was a practical solution-the H'cars didn't seem to have the metal capacity to think of breaking their bonds-but a degrading one to use on supposedly intelligent beings.

Wesley Crusher had a large setup of sensor pallet arrays set up and he currently had them pointed at a pair of Ikainet copies. Picard had been reading reports about the ensign's school project. Starting with Ikainet as the only subject, the study had grown into a full scale operation that included all of the H'cars, half the astrophysics lab, a warp field specialist and the two other teenaged members of the honors science class. Picard expected that Wesley Crusher would get a very good grade for his work.

A familiar figure in deep red, loose pants, tunic and flat-topped hat stood nearby with group of H'cars. Surprised to see her there, Picard went over to them.

"Guinan? What are you doing here?"

"Well, with them remodelling Ten Forward upstairs, there isn't much else for me to do. So, I thought I'd come down here and get acquainted." Guinan pointed to her companions.

"This is Zini." A tall, broad, pale H'car in a loose yellow dress nodded to him.

"And Gyaznek."

"Oooooh!" The smaller H'car exclaimed at him. She wore black boots, pants and robes and had very purple skin and hair to match. Her eyes were so oversized-even for a Caroomadi-they were almost bug-like.

"This is Maltod." This one had almost black hair and mustaches and navy blue eyes. She bobbed her head at him.

"And this is Warrin." Picard stared. She was the dark, naked mannequin that had harassed him in Sickbay when the H'cars had first appeared. She obviously remembered him, for she grinned and made a poking gesture toward him.

"These are the H'cars who disappeared from Caro when this whole thing started," Guinan explained.

"I see," he replied, keeping his distance from Warrin.

"We were just discussing what was going on on Caro."

"Really?"

"Really!" Gyaznek repeated happily.

"We were telling our side of what happened," Zini pronounced politely. Picard recognized her and the other H'cars from what he'd read from the Caroomadi history he'd studied and from the mission briefing. Warrin was still a surprise to him. She looked far more life-like in still pictures than she did in person.

"We were just doing as we were asked," Zini went on.

"Tens Bayairiz asked us," Maltod confirmed.

"Leave!" Gyaznek shouted. "Leave this world and don't come back! Return to the Roocaroom! Leave!" She waved her arms over her head. Nobody paid much heed to the noisy demonstration. Gyaznek had a habit of speaking only with exclamation points. The people in the hold had gotten used to it.

"I see," Picard acknowledged. In physical appearance these other four H'cars were completely different from Ensign Ikainet. They had different bodies. They had different voices. They used distinctly different mannerisms. But there was some underlying characteristic that they still shared with the ensign: a certain detachment from the reality around them. Picard suddenly didn't feel like talking with them. He didn't want to be around them at all; he wanted to leave.

Picard had thought he'd prepared himself for meeting the other H'cars. While he was recovering in Sickbay, he had reviewed all the ship's logs, his officers reports, the scientific data, the Caroomadi records and profiles of the four returned H'cars. He had analyzed and compartmentalized every detail about them, and so, had felt prepared to confront them in his hold.

But they repelled him as much as Ensign Ikainet did. He didn't want to be around them. As he stood there looking at them, he reminded himself that these were immensely old, powerful beings who'd had an enormous influence on the development of a whole civilization. _I should at least be curious about them._ Warrin was poking her own eye with her finger.

Another person approached them. Zor Bitarl, now wearing tailored gray robes, faced Captain Picard, her mouth closed in obvious annoyance.

"Captain Picard, I just spoke with Commander Data. Have you told your entire senior staff what my plans are for dinner?" she demanded. Picard looked back innocently.

"Of course. They will be involved at dinner, so they have a need to know what is happening."

"Captain, I revealed my plans to you only because you refused cooperation unless I did so. At the time you assured me that you would tell no one of my theories. My plan requires Bayairiz not know anything about what is to happen. By telling your staff you have risked-"

"Zor Bitarl," he cut her off. He was not in the mood for being talked down to by a prima dona detective. "My crew's discretion is as good as my own. If I have given my word to protect your theories, they will protect them as well. But anything occurring on my ship is my concern, and that of my staff. I will not keep them in the dark just to satisfy your craving for dramatic secrecy." He glanced toward Guinan and the H'cars. "And if you are so concerned for the security of this dinner party you are planning, then I suggest that you speak with the H'cars first," he told her smugly. "If you'll excuse me." He left Bitarl standing there. Guinan followed him.

They went to the main door of the hold, where he had entered. He stayed silent and tight-lipped, Guinan serenely silent. They paused at the door as a gang of blue-green and black uniformed science specialists pushed an antigrav cart loaded with new equipment into the hold. Picard turned back to survey the room once more.

"Not what you'd expect," Guinan commented.

"Hmm?"

"Well, the gods have returned," Guinan quoted a line from a well-known Rigellian novel. "At least for Caro, they have."

"Huh," Picard scoffed and left. He was out the door and halfway to the turbolift before he realized that Guinan hadn't followed him. Slightly disappointed, he slowed his pace, and then shrugged and entered the lift.

"Bridge," he called out to the lift computer. He certainly hadn't given the slightest indication that he might like to talk, and Guinan wasn't one for hanging around if she wasn't wanted. Not unless she had a reason to. And he hadn't given her any. The turbolift started upward on its journey.

He was curious about how she felt about these new H'cars. Obviously they didn't bother her any more than Ensign Ikainet did. Even after being injured by the ensign, Guinan remained steadfastly neutral toward her. Now she was chatting with Ikainet's sister H'cars down in the hold. He felt a little betrayed by this, though he couldn't think of a good reason why. Guinan was not bound by his own personal likes and dislikes. And he had to admit to himself that he disliked Ensign Ikainet.

The lift stopped and picked up two men in civilian clothes who asked to go to the hydroponics lab, briefly diverting Picard's trip to the bridge. The two men had been cheerfully chatting with each other when the doors had opened and let them in. But the sight of the dour-faced captain, alone in the lift, had stilled the conversation. They rode silently to their stop with Picard behind them, with that silent, impersonal closeness enforced by being temporarily stuck in such a confined space with an unhappy-looking senior officer. They got off quickly at their stop, and the lift resumed its upward motion.

Picard was annoyed with himself that he'd let his dislike for Ensign Ikainet transfer to the H'cars in the hold. He was annoyed that he disliked Ensign Ikainet. He felt as if she'd unfairly gained his dislike, just as she used her extraordinary abilities to make herself the center of attention all the time.

He wanted this mission to be over with. In fact, it was over with. They'd accomplished their goal. The Roocaroom were back in their place in the outer system with every indication that they would stay there for a long, long time. A two-month backlog of space traffic had commenced to and from Caro. The _Enterprise_ was only staying as a courtesy to the Caroomadi government, to help Zor Bitarl resolve the intrigue that seemed to have been at the heart of the Roocaroom problem. Picard wished he had some emergency that he could rush to, leaving Caro and its H'cars behind.

The lift stopped and Picard stepped onto the bridge. Riker was on watch. After hearing the status reports of his officers, Picard once again left the bridge to his first officer and went to his ready room.

He went to the replicator and ordered tea, earl gray, hot. He carefully picked up the cup and saucer, wary of his hands. They were feeling much stronger since that morning, with only an occasional ache or twinge. He did not wish to return to Sickbay with fingers burned from hot tea.

He sipped the drink at his desk and sighed. He wanted to leave Caro. He was tired of this planet and its H'cars. He didn't care about the Tungaras murders. He didn't even think that Dixon Hill would have cared, had Dixon Hill ever met Ensign Ikainet. The _Enterprise_ had successfully discharged its primary duty to Caro.

The captain took another sip, put the cup aside and then activated his view screen. Just one more minor duty to complete.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

The senior staff, plus Ensign Ikainet, gathered at 1600 in the observation lounge, an hour and a half before dinner. Picard ran the meeting in his usual efficient style, keeping the discussion on track and not allowing it to wander into time-consuming asides. The captain loathed meetings that ran any longer than necessary.

The captain first reviewed Zor Bitarl's dinner plans. Worf scoffed at the whole concept. The Klingon didn't read or appreciate drawing room mysteries where the murderer was dramatically revealed by the hero/detective. Data was intrigued by the concept and was actually looking forward to the plan's execution. Riker, Troi and Crusher seemed amused by the idea, and Picard wondered if the doctor's interest weren't spurred on by his open impatience with it.

Next they covered the ship's status and how it would affect their leaving Caro once all their business there was complete. Without mentioning the hundreds of hours of extra duty time his people in Engineering had spent replacing burned out modules, testing system components, crawling around in jeffries tubes, dismantling and reassembling panels all over Engineering and in other parts of the ship, Geordi LaForge and Commander Riker gave a brief, precise report that highlighted the essential information. The warp drive and all primary systems were restored to at least minimal requirements and they could leave Caro any time they wished.

Worf was assigned to removing the H'cars to Caro. He'd arranged to have them transported by shuttle to an isolated island on the surface that the Caroomadi government had set aside. The new and inexperienced H'cars would be trained in the arts of civilization there by the other modern H'cars. That training would consist of the huge energy discharges that the Roocaroom and the H'cars used for direct communication that were too dangerous and destructive to use in the confines of Cargo Bay 4. The energy burst that Ikainet had delivered through the ship's power systems when the H'cars had first appeared had been the tiniest tap on the shoulder to prevent them from causing any harm the _Enterprise_.

Satisfied with this arrangement, Picard moved on to the next subject: the changes in Ensign Ikainet's abilities that had resulted during the mission.

Troi had only given Ikainet a few preliminary tests, but they showed that her temporal perception had increased by more than two thousand percent. Her improved speech patterns were the most obvious change, but the counselor expected that all of Ikainet's decision-making processes would show a marked improvement. But the Ensign would have to be examined at a starbase at a later date to get a full assessment of how she had been changed. From what Picard could see, she didn't appear to be altered significantly.

Commander Data had reviewed the ensign's new ability to replicate things and he confirmed that she could reproduce anything in the ship's replicator logs. Basically Ikainet had absorbed all of the subspace data storage on the ship from the replicators and the holodecks. Ikainet could also physically recreate every power system path on the ship; in theory she could completely recreate the _Enterprise_ power systems in open space, like a nervous system without a body, but nobody wanted to see her do it. Picard was delighted to hear that Ikainet could not produce matter objects from the ship's transporter logs. Data couldn't explain why, but any of their efforts to translate any inanimate object transport patterns into real space matter had produced, "interesting and grotesque replication errors." Picard had privately dreaded the prospect of Ikainet being able to reproduce any living matter that had been through their transporter. The results of that would have been too catastrophic to mention. Likewise, the captain was grateful that none these new abilities had been passed on to the other H'cars.

Ensign Ikainet herself had somehow found the time to produce a 14,372 page report (most of it was annotated pictures and diagrams and computer-generated tables, lists and indexes) about how her abilities had been changed by her encounter with the ship's power systems and Captain Picard's brain. Riker scowled when she mentioned her report. Data might have been able to absorb that much trivia in a few minutes, but Riker had not been pleased when she'd handed him such a stupendous volume to scan through an hour before the staff meeting.

It annoyed the captain that Ikainet had turned up with these new abilities so near the end of their mission. They were left-over details that they would be forced to leave undone, intriguing loose threads that wanted to be pulled. Picard was not going to pull on them. At last, the meeting reached the final bit of business on the agenda.

"Ensign Ikainet." Picard picked up a data chit that he'd brought to the meeting with him. Commander Riker smiled. He'd co-signed the orders that were on it. "I will be leaving you behind when the _Enterprise_ leaves Caro. You will assist the Caroomadi government in dealing with these new H'cars. You will also serve as an initial Starfleet intermediary between the government and Headquarters until the permanent team arrives next week. Your immediate concern there will be coordinating the plans for rebuilding of the Tungaras Observatory." Smiling Picard held up the chit. "These are your orders. As well as your transfer orders back to the _Beawolf_. Captain Tzaki should be able to pick you up in another three or four weeks." Picard handed the chit to Data next to him. Data passed it to Doctor Crusher. Doctor Crusher, smiling sweetly, passed it to Ikainet. The ensign held it up and turned it over a few times, examining it carefully as if it were a new discovery.

"You will be a representative of Starfleet on your home world Ensign," the captain instructed. "I expect you to behave as an officer after we're gone."

Ikainet looked up from the tape, her mouth open in a smile, her little yellow teeth visible past her dark, purplish, thin lips.

"Riiiiiiiight!"

**- - - End Part 16**


	26. Chapter 27

**DINNER AT TEN-FORWARD**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 17: ****She's Soup**

Captain Picard, in dress uniform, entered Ten Forward with Doctor Crusher

The room had been transformed.

All of the original furnishings and the bar had been removed. Two huge, copper, metal and glass chandeliers had been installed. They, and a series of similar smaller lights on the upper walls, completely changed the room from an evening lounge to a rather convincing banquet hall. A wide and very long, sturdy table laden with food sat in front of a floor-to-ceiling velvet curtain that covered up the planetscape that usually hung over the bar area. Two long dining tables with a small centerpiece table between them were lined up by the view ports in the upper portion of the room. Chairs and round, cloth covered tables lined the walls. Everything was profusely decorated with green and purple plants, flowers and food.

The center part of the room was empty except for the early arrivals milling there. All _Enterprise_ crew members wore dress uniforms. Civilians were attired in dignified and subdued finery that was here and there accented by a spot of color, metallic flash or a bit of jewelry. Zor Bitarl had invited a selection of top dignitaries from the Tungaras University and the Caroomadi government, insuring that she would have a large and illustrious audience when she unveiled her murderer. The guest list also included the heads of all the major departments on the _Enterprise_, plus the personnel from the sociology lab where Ensign Ikainet was assigned. Doctor Blakox amiably chatted with a group of specialists from Tungaras over a platter of hors d'oeuvres. Sarcasm about H'cars was very popular in academic circles on Caro and the sociologist's tales of Ikainet's dubious activities while on board the _Enterprise_ were being received quite well.

The captain and doctor wandered into the room, the captain wearing a genial smile that he always put on for diplomatic occasions. Something caught Picard's eye and he went over to the sturdy table in the lower portion of the room.

Picard stared at what he saw. He couldn't help it. It was a beautifully detailed, giant pink mold of the _Enterprise_. It had a faint, fruity aroma. The telltale glow of an antigrav at the base explained why it didn't fall apart of its own weight. Neat stacks of shallow porcelain bowls sat under the saucer section. Obviously it was meant to be eaten.

Picard had been told that the theme of the dinner was "Ikainet in Starfleet", but he hadn't realized what sort of culinary excesses this could lead to. There were meat pies with representative pictures of Ikainet's face in neatly trimmed vegetables; a big salad bowl with a purple vegetable arm sticking up from the middle of the green-blue and black leaves; pieces of cake shaped like shuttlecraft. Commander Riker had told him about the extensive check list that the caterers had brought with them. If they had wanted it, they could have asked for a flaming ballistic entree delivered to the plate of each guest.

With all the evidence before him, the captain could not deny that Ensign Ikainet had come by her food fetish honestly. She had inherited it from the planet she had adopted. Picard turned away from the banquet display lest he find his own face in meat and vegetables staring back at him. He hoped that the food would be sliced and less identifiable when it was served.

The captain and the doctor mingled a bit more. Picard was singled out by every other Caroomadi official who wanted to personally greet/thank/speak to the captain of the _Enterprise_. Wesley Crusher, looking very smart in his dress uniform, joined them. The doctor complimented him on his appearance, and he beamed and blushed back at her, as if his mother had just confirmed adulthood on him. Picard, who had given the young man his field commission, noted that this was the first occasion that the ensign had been to that required a dress uniform since his commission had become official. Wesley got himself and his mother glasses of a pink carbonated drink to sip with the hors d'oeuvres, but Picard declined the munchies. He didn't feel like nibbling.

They eventually ended up with Dule Josat, Ensign Ikainet and Counselor Troi. Zor Bitarl's assistant was talking to them about sex.

"I hadn't really thought it through before," Lee Zetelas was telling them. "But when you're off planet you really do need to check with the anatomy charts _before_ you approach anyone. I was really quite fortunate with that woman on Earth. She already knew that we could hit it off. Otherwise it could have been a _disaster_. I mean some species just don't, well...fit." Josat looked as impatient as Picard felt to get on with the dinner. Counselor Troi was trying hard to hide her amusement. Ensign Ikainet listened with her usual attentive vacuousness.

Zetelas turned to the new arrivals. "But you people in Starfleet must encounter that problem all the time," he told Picard. "I mean going from place to place like you do. You must be prepared for anything."

"I would suppose so," the captain answered back in a cool, but polite tone.

"Oh, there wouldn't be any problems here on Caro. We fit pretty well together. I found that out on my trip to Earth." Zetelas glanced at Ikainet. "Well, that is for us ordinary Caroomadi."

"I'm anatomically correct for a humanoid female," Ikainet offered to her captain. Picard stared back at her, appalled by what he'd just heard her say and what it implied.

Pfffffffffffft!

Doctor Crusher sprayed her drink out in front of her and bent over in a coughing fit that barely disguised her laughter.

"Oh!" Zetelas obviously not aware of the cause of the fit, took Crusher's half empty glass for her and lightly patted her on the back. She nodded her thanks to him and tried to straighten and clear her throat. But when she looked at Picard's face again, she saw that same melodramatically offended expression she'd seen when she'd changed the BWD on him the day before, and she went into another coughing/laughing spasm.

Concerned, Zetelas looked to the captain for help. "Is there a doctor here?"

Wesley Crusher froze in place, horrified that his mother was openly laughing at the captain. He did know that she could get away with it, but it was unnerving for the young ensign to be present to see it anyway.

Picard gritted his teeth as his chief medical officer pulled herself together. But there was a mischievous gleam in her eye that he didn't care to see. He looked away.

Ensign Ikainet's smile had vanished. Her mouth was pressed into a tight 'o' as if she were listening for something.

"Is something wrong, Ensign?" the captain asked, knowing that the ensign wasn't smart enough to change her posture unless something had happened to cause her to do it.

"Ooooooooooooooh," she answered back.

"Well, what is it?"

"Warp field energy. Nearby," she exhaled back at him in a surprised sounding voice.

"Another H'car? The Roocaroom?"

"Noooooooo. One like yours." She pointed at him. "Getting closer. Almost heeeeeeeere."

Picard tapped his comm badge.

"Picard to Commander Riker."

"Riker here."

"Have all the guests arrived, Commander?"

Riker stood on the upper enclosed portion of hanger bay 2. A shuttlecraft was coming into view through the open bay door.

"The last shuttle is just arriving, Sir."

"Damn," Picard muttered. "Ensign, is it on that shuttle?"

"Yeeeeeeeesss!"

"Commander I want you to detain the guests there when they arrive."

"Sir?"

"Be as polite and diplomatic as you can, Number One. But keep them there. I'll be sending a security team."

"Yes, Sir."

"Picard out."

"What's going on, Captain?" Josat demanded. "What does she mean by, 'a warp field like yours?'"

"Oh, say. Zor won't like that," Zetelas told him. "It might ruin the whole plan if-"

"I don't care what Zor Bitarl won't like. I'm calling this thing off." After sparing a moment to gasp his shock like a fish in air, Zetelas left the group to get the detective.

"Picard to bridge."

"Bridge Sir," the duty officer answered.

"Have the ship's sensors picked up anything unusual about the shuttle that's just arrived."

"No, Sir."

"They wouldn't," Doctor Crusher told him. "The warp field on you was very tightly confined. We had to modify all the medical equipment just to be able to detect it." Picard nodded. The doctor's expression changed as she thought of a way around the problem.

"Wesley," she turned to her son "That medical tricorder that you modified for me to read warp fields is in my office. Get it and take it to the Hangar Bay."

"Right," he answered and left in enough of a hurry to attract the attention of the other guests he passed.

"Send Mr. Worf and a security detachment to Hangar Bay 2," the captain told the bridge officer. "We have reason to believe that one of the guests on the arriving shuttle is extremely dangerous. And go to yellow alert. Picard out." The captain turned to Troi. "Counselor, I want you to stay here and take care of our guests."

Zor Bitarl, in pressed navy blue robes with metallic gold trim, Lee Zetelas in her wake, emerged from the gathering to zero in on the captain.

"Captain Picard, what are you doing?" She did not look happy, nor did she look accustomed to having her plans changed.

"I'm calling this off."

"Captain, you are jeopardizing the success of my entire investigation. Tens Bayairiz will not submit to simple questioning. She will know I do not have the evidence to accuse her and afterwards she will be free to disappear from Caro, never having to account for what she has done." Bitarl's angry voice rose in volume and a few people nearby turned their way, wondering what the disturbance was.

"Ensign Ikainet has told us that another warp field like the one that affected me has just come aboard this ship, probably with the last shuttle. Which incidentally carries your prime suspect," the captain informed her.

"All the more reason not to confront her before its time-"

"I can assure you, Zor Bitarl, from personal experience, that that warp field is very dangerous and unstable. And we will not bring it up here and expose all the other guests to it. You want to unmask your killer. Fine. But you will do it in Hangar Bay 2. I will not risk these people's lives to satisfy your need for theatrics."

Bitarl glared back. Troi sensed that she was not used to taking orders from anyone, let alone from starship captains. if the detective hadn't been so focused on achieving her goal, the counselor would have expected her to storm out of the room, mortally offended by Picard's usurpation of authority. But she stood her ground and agreed to the change. They headed for the door.

"Captain," Data stopped them as they were leaving. "Lieutenant Ghanis in Cargo Bay 4 has reported an increased activity in the H'cars, apparently-"

"Yes, we know, Mr. Data." They took the android with them. "Another warp field has come aboard with the last shuttle." The group entered the turbolift. It was crowded. Picard, Data, Crusher, Ikainet, all in dress uniform, crowded together with Bitarl, Zetelas and Josat. The lift was spacious enough to hold them, but Bitarl looked furious enough to make her fellow Caroomadi uneasy.

Wesley Crusher met them at the hangar bay. Worf was already there with Commander Riker. Picard told them about the warp field. The shuttle containing it had just arrived and the door to it was opening.

The _Enterprise_ shuttle pilot appeared first, opening the door for his passengers. He paused for a brief paralyzed second when he saw the entire ship's senior stall, all in dress uniform, plus a contingent of security people, staring at him.

The passengers disembarked.

One by one, five Caroomadi academics stepped down onto the deck and, befuddled, stared at their welcome.

"There," Doctor Crusher said when the fourth one got out. A smallish woman with silvery-purple hair stood with the others. She wore a short, loose blue tunic and skirt. Her large, deep blue eyes made the elder Caroomadi look much younger than she was. Picard recognized Bayairiz from her picture.

"Oh, uh, sorry we're late," a tall woman said with nervous humor as she noticed that the Klingon was carrying what looked like a real phaser. The group approached and Picard, still a diplomat, greeted them.

"My apologies, ladies and gentlemen, for this unexpected greeting. But your compatriot here, Zor Bitarl," he extended his arm toward the detective, "has some pressing business that could not wait."

She cast Picard a poisonous look, with a hard, blinking glare. Then she straightened and stepped forward.

"Tens Bayairiz." Her suspect looked back warily. "I accuse you of being responsible for the accidental deaths of the three persons killed in the explosion in your personal laboratory. And of the deliberate murder of Doctor Telaghnos two days later."

"You." Bayairiz, at first surprised, now sneered at her accuser. Her companions shuffled away from her as she spoke. "You don't expect me to stand for this."

"I don't believe you meant to kill the first three people. But you meant to disguise your involvement with the Tungaras Observatory's experiments when you killed..."

"I didn't kill anyone!" Bayairiz had a powerful voice. She shouted down the detective. "I've listened to your innuendoes for too long, Zor Bitarl. You have hinted and suggested all through this supposed investigation of yours. You have no proof—"

"I have witnesses." Bitarl answered back haughtily, intent on her purpose, her drive to force this last piece of the mystery into place. Bitarl had completely forgotten her tiff with Picard. The detective turned and brought Ensign Ikainet forward. The H'car marched up, arms loose at her sides to stand a few paces from Bayairiz.

"You can't be serious," Bayairiz scoffed. "You can't trust a H'car to..."

Picard leaned close to Doctor Crusher who was monitoring the action with her tricorder. "How is she able to speak if she's carrying the same kind of warp field that I had?"

Crusher adjusted the settings while Picard, Riker and her son looked on. Worf's security people hustled the other shuttle passengers and the pilot out of the hold while Bayairiz and Bitarl loudly confronted each other.

"It looks like she has a small implant at the base of her skull." The doctor fine tuned the tricorder sensors. "It's somehow containing the warp field energy."

The two adversaries continued their confrontation. Ensign Ikainet, mouth agape, stood between them like an audience at a ping-pong match.

"What motive could I possibly have for all this-"

Bitarl answered her challenge. "You would wish something more devious and ancient than murder. You would seek to control the gods!"

The two continued to argue, Ensign Ikainet standing in the middle. Picard was tired of it. Bitarl had been given her chance: now it was time to take in Bayairiz and find out more about her warp field. The captain nodded to Worf. Two security people walked around behind Bayairiz, who was so absorbed with her confrontation that she didn't even realize they were there until one of them tapped her on the shoulder. She whirled about and then back at Bitarl. Snarling, she grabbed Ensign Ikainet.

There was a flash of blue and an ominous crackle. Everyone else in the hangar ducked from the sudden impact of light.

Bitarl, Worf and the security guards went flying backwards. Picard, Riker and the others peeked back towards where the flash had come from.

Bayairiz stood rigid, her head up, her hand clamped onto Ikainet's upper arm. The ensign stood frozen, slightly hunched, her mouth gaping open, her knees bent, her feet pigeon-toed. A pulsing blue aura surrounded them. Worf and Bitarl picked themselves up, the Klingon drawing his phaser. Bayairiz saw the motion and turned her head towards the Klingon. Her eyes glowed with the same blue light that surrounded her.

"No!" Bitarl leaped forward, distracting Bayairiz's ominous glare. "You didn't mean to kill the first three people. You don't need to do it again!"

"You..." Bayairiz sneered.

The blue light surrounding her flickered. There was a faint crackle, and then the light disappeared. It evaporated and drained away into Ensign Ikainet, who collapsed, her body darkening, losing its shape and form and falling down, inward on itself.

"Ahh, aaaaaaahhhhhhh!" Bayairiz cried out. She fell to her knees, her trembling hands going to her head. Her knees slid and she toppled and fell into the black ooze that Ensign Ikainet had become. Her wailing filled the empty volume of the hangar. Cautiously, Worf approached. Then Bitarl.

Picard, Riker, Crusher and the others followed. Everyone stood at least half a meter away from the perimeter of the black puddle. Picard wrinkled his nose from the vile stench of rot and decay. Somewhere amidst the ooze and the now stained, limp uniform a small, dark nodule glowed a faint and feeble blue.

Doctor Crusher approached, stepping gingerly into the black puddle to reach Bayairiz. She crouched, her tricorder aimed at the still wailing Caroomadi. She tapped her comm badge.

"Medical emergency in Hangar Bay 2."

**- - - Part 17 continues . . . **


	27. Chapter 28

**DINNER AT TEN-FORWARD**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 17 continues: ****She's Soup**

Bright lights above shone down on Tens Bayairiz's body. She stared blindly back up at them. No blinking, no tears, no reaction. A nurse and two medical technicians hovered over her for several minutes. But their movements didn't stir their patient. She remained as still as stone when they left her.

Doctor Crusher looked at the results of her scans with dismay. Red indicators on yellow scales glowed downward on her black display panels. Zor Bitarl and her assistant waited nearby. Crusher tried another stimulus, with no effect. She hadn't been expecting any. Her initial diagnosis had been devastating. Now she was just eliminating the obscure improbabilities. She heard the doors to Sickbay swoosh open. She caught a bit of red out of the corner of her eye and she knew that the captain had arrived to hear her preliminary report.

"Doctor?" The captain, still in his dress uniform, had positioned himself next to Bitarl, both of them looking down at Bayairiz. Crusher sighed.

"As near as I can tell from these tests, her brain has effectively been erased." She pronounced her judgement over her patient like an executioner. "Only the lower autonomic functions are intact. When she was brought in here twenty minutes ago the cells in the cerebral cortex were totally inactive, as if all the energy had been sucked out of them. I've managed to restore some chemical activity, but her brain just isn't functioning except on the most primitive level. The cells are dying and I can't stop it."

"Do you know what caused it?" the captain asked gravely, as if they were already at the funeral.

"I would say that her implant enabled her to control Ensign Ikainet's warp field energy, and that somehow Ensign Ikainet was able to withdraw her warp field from it. And when she did," the doctor concluded, "she took Tens Bayairiz with it."

"Control Ensign Ikainet's warp field?" Picard looked up at his chief medical officer. "How?"

"Well, Geordi or Wesley would be the person who could tell you exactly how it works." She turned and touched a blue square on the black display on the wall. An enlarged schematic of Bayairiz's implant appeared, a white and yellow oblong with a mass of microfilaments reaching out to individual brain cells. "But it's designed like a...a subspace valve. It doesn't have an active power source, but it can maintain a small amount of warp field energy, like a battery. But it's funny, the control mechanisms on it are so rigid, it looks like it can only take one or two very specific inputs. It rejects everything else."

"What could she do with it then?"

"I don't know. About the only thing she could do was connect up to a H'car's warp field."

"Yes," Picard realized. "That's exactly what it was for. Bayairiz couldn't possibly function with the H'car's warp energy all the time. But if she had a...switch installed in her head, letting her tap into it whenever she wanted-"

"That is what she wanted," Bitarl told them. The detective stepped up to the biobed and solemnly looked down at the remains of her quarry. "All of her early writings, the secret records we've been able to salvage, indicated that this was her true goal. She wanted their power. She had studied the H'cars her whole life and it galled her that such vast powers were wasted on such fools." Bayairiz's huge eyes stared sightlessly upward, utterly emptied of all thought.

"She would have had to have had that device implanted into her head before she was exposed to the H'car's warp field," Doctor Crusher noted.

"Yes," Bitarl agreed. "Doctor Telaghnos probably performed the necessary surgery before their initial experiment with Warrin. The day after the first three deaths, Doctor Telaghnos did not return home. He left cryptic messages to his spouses and children about his own doom and mortality. And he advised them to never see him again. We think that Bayairiz caught up with him and killed him two days later, after he had clearly become unstable."

"How do you know that?" Picard asked, feeling as if he was being told hee end of a mystery novel that he hadn't read the beginning or middle of.

Bitarl looked mildly back at him. "Because she used Warrin's warp field when she killed him. Warrin almost never speaks and was the ideal choice for the task. Immediately after that Warrin and Maltod were sent out to find out what had happened to Zini and Gyaznek and the Roocaroom. Leaving all the witnesses and accomplices either dead or returned to their element."

"Did Warrin tell you this?" the captain asked, a bit disturbed by how much it seemed that Bitarl had been not telling him, even after he'd demanded total candidness from her in return for his cooperation and use of the _Enterprise_ to stage the conclusion of her investigation.

Bitarl turned her oversized eyes on him. "Warrin has a known vocabulary of only 67 words," she told him. "No." Her gaze returned to the unfortunate Bayairiz. "Maltod knew that Warrin was with Bayairiz when we think that Telaghonos was killed. And Gyazneck and Zini confirmed that they were in Bayairiz's lab during the first 'experiment'. And your own researches into the Tungaras records has uncovered that Bayairiz has been carrying on her preliminary investigations on the H'cars for some time."

"Then the implant was designed to not only control the warp field, but drew power from it as well." Doctor Crusher was following her own logic. "Of course!" She turned back to her medical displays and then back to Picard. "Bayairiz had been experimenting with connecting a brain to a H'car's warp field energy by using that warp field energy as a power source. Ensign Ikainet must have learned about it when she was communicating with the other Roocaroom. And when you asked her what she was doing after she got into the warp drive, she combined what happened to the Tungaras laboratory with it, and...zap."

"The H'cars must have gotten the same kind of sensory input from their encounters with Bayairiz that the Roocaroom got from the Tungaras Observatory," the captain realized. "So, of course they complied with the experiments."

"Fortunately, the overload they got from you cured their taste for it." Picard frowned back at Beverly Crusher's comment. "It sure didn't work when she tried it on Ensign Ikainet. The uncontrolled sensory overload must have forced her to withdraw her warp field, and Bayairiz's mind was drawn away with it." The doctor nodded to her all-but-dead patient.

"Hmm," Picard replied thoughtfully. "Perhaps."

"Bayairiz could not truly control the H'car's warp energy, even for short periods of time," Bitarl said. "Even after the unfortunate deaths of her accomplices, Bayairiz hung on to the idea that she would learn how to control it. She may have even thought that she could reverse what she had done." She spoke down to the body on the biobed. Her assistant, Zetelas, folded his hands before him and bowed his head respectfully. "She stalled for time, hoping that the Roocaroom problem could be solved without uncovering her plots. She would have fled Caro, if she could, and returned in secret to fulfil her ambition after the crisis had passed."

"But when she tried to use Ensign Ikainet's power, it backfired on her badly" Picard commented. Zetelas looked at his companion nervously. It was obvious to him that Bayairiz's first act would have been to vaporize the detective, like her other victims. Bitarl's expression remained calm as she answered the captain.

"You think that Ikainet acted deliberately to save the lives of the people around her?"

"Ensign Ikainet is duty bound to protect life. She didn't act until it was clear that Bayairiz was about to kill you. To all appearances, she reacted to the situation exactly as she should have according to her Starfleet training."

"I don't think she learned that trick in Starfleet Academy." Doctor Crusher reminded them of the black ooze and the single, faintly glowing nodule that the ensign had reverted to.

"No," Picard agreed. "But the effect of her action was to nullify Bayairiz before she could do any harm. She reacted. Just as when I demanded an explanation from her, she replied with what she knew."

"Well, why didn't she just tell us about Bayairiz in the first place?" Crusher asked.

"We didn't ask her." Picard nodded to himself and then to Bitarl who smiled and nodded back at him. The detective had clearly known which questions to ask the H'cars to get her information. "She probably mentioned it somewhere in that encyclopedic report of hers. We just haven't found it yet. After taking over our warp engines, absorbing everything in our replicator files and reconstituting all the H'cars, why would she even think of telling us what Bayairiz was doing if we didn't ask?"

"Wisdom is not knowing the answers, it is knowing the questions. Just ask the H'cars." Bitarl sounded like she was quoting a Caroomadi proverb. She may have been, Picard decided. "This will be seen as a judgement. From the gods."

The captain looked down at Bayairiz's mindless body. No, it wasn't a judgement. Ikainet wasn't smart enough for that. It was just an accident.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

A faint blue glow formed inside the clear container where Warrin's finger poked it.

"Stop that!"

Warrin stared back at the irate engineer.

"Get away from that," LaForge ordered. He could see his reflection in her huge eyes, leaving him with the impression that he was yelling into an empty space.

Warrin lowered her arm and stepped back.

"Over there!" LaForge commanded, pointing to where the other H'cars were. Warrin peacefully hopped down from the raised dias portion of Mr. Data's laboratory and thumped over to them. Her movements were every bit as mechanical and unnatural as her appearance. She really did look and move like a naked Caroomadi marionette; life size with no visible strings. LaForge knew that those strings were the invisible force fields that all the H'cars generated. he could see the fringe efftects of all the H'cars' warp fields. But none of them were as primitive a humanoid as Warrin. _Even Ensign Ikainet isn't that bad._

LaForge returned to the original problem. Ensign Ikainet's remains had been gathered into a covered cylindrical specimen jar. They had lifted up the black ooze from the hangar bay deck with antigravs, poured it into the specimen jar and taken it to Data's lab. Ensign Ikainet's uniform and the faintly glowing nodule were swimming around inside the black slime. The cover of the jar sealed off the smell.

Data and Ensign Crusher scanned the computer readouts: the light from the panel illuminated Data's pale android features. LaForge looked over his shoulder.

"See anything?"

For a millisecond Data analyzed the vague question. They had been studying what was left of Ensign Ikainet for the thirty-three minutes since they had arrived at the lab. Scanning, probing. Most of what they had was compressed and liquified organic waste and Ensign Ikainet's uniform and boots. But a small, fist-sized core piece defied all analysis. Data deduced that LaForge's question was designed to casually inquire if anything had been discovered during the two minutes and twelve seconds he'd been distracted by Warrin.

"Most of this is as it appears to be, the uniform, the...sludge. But I have been unable to penetrate the interior of the central core." Data chose his words carefully. Whatever terms he used would likely be picked up by the others. Accuracy was important, as well as aesthetic appeal. "I do not believe that it exists in real space."

"Hmph. Sounds like Ensign Ikainet to me."

In the lower, main portion of the lab, Commander Riker continued his futile dialogue with the four H'cars.

"All I'm asking is, can you tell us anything about what happened to Ensign Ikainet. Is she alive? Can you help us communicate with her?" Riker knew it was counterproductive to string his questions together like that. These creatures couldn't seem to handle them singly; there was no reason to expect them to answer multiple inquiries. But it was still slightly possible that the rephrasing might shake some thoughts loose out of them.

"Ikainet...Alive!" Gyaznek yelled back.

"Communicate?" Zini asked. She actually sounded like she was trying to be helpful. Riker had learned right away that Zini and Maltod were the most articulate of the two. Gyaznek just bellowed words out, throwing them back at his questioners. And Warrin was just useless. Riker concentrated on Zini and Maltod and tried to ignore the other two.

"Yes. We want to communicate with Ensign Ikainet. But we can't. Can you help us?"

Zini and Maltod exchanged looks. They were the only H'cars, outside of Ensign Ikainet, who had shown any significant socialization at all. They actually acted as if they were friends, which surprised Riker. He hadn't thought it possible that the H'cars were capable of any meaningful interpersonal relationships. They were an interesting looking pair. Maltod, small with dark hair and mustaches and wearing a loose green shirt and pale blue shorts, looked like she might be off on vacation. Zini, with her lavender skin, pink hair and mustaches was almost as tall and broad chested as the commander. She wore a short yellow dress and white shoes, and from her bare arms and legs, Riker could see that she had spent considerable effort forming the natural-looking curves of her body, completely unlike Warrin, who paraded about in stiff, neuter splendor.

"Help you. Communicate. With Ikainet," Zini restated, making a hand gesture to the dais where Data and Geordi LaForge hovered over Ikainet's remains..

"Yes." Maybe this time he'd gotten through to them after all.

"With. Ikainet." Maltod lowered her large eyelids, as if in concentration. No, he hadn't gotten through to them after all. But at least these two had the good grace to look like they were trying.

Riker was certain that their inability to understand what he wanted was connected to the shape that Ikainet was it. Zini and Maltod had been able to tell him that they had never before seen a H'car like Ikainet was now. Somehow the act of communicating, for them, was inextricably linked to the conditions in which that communication took place. Like Ensign Ikainet's previous tendency to use whole phrases that she'd heard before because making sentences from single words was so difficult for her, Zini and Maltod did not understand the concept of communicating with their fellow H'car in this radically altered form. Ensign Ikainet had drastically improved her grammar with the better understanding of linear time that she had gained from her misadventure with the captain, but none of that ability had been passed on to any of the other H'cars. Apparently they had all fled from Picard before it could be passed on to them.

Riker finally gave up and left the H'cars with their security escort.

"Any luck?" he asked Data as he stepped up to the laboratory platform. No luck. Riker told them of the H'cars lack of enlightenment.

"That is not surprising, Sir," Data told him. "Ensign Ikainet's present condition is a completely new experience for them. It would take some time and practice for them to learn how to deal with it. The teaching of H'cars is a separate field of study on Caro. It can be a long and laborious process and even with the significant advances that were made through Ensign Ikainet's training at the Academy, it could take quite some time-"

"Yes, Mr. Data." Riker looked at the pitiful black muck in the specimen jar. A weak, blue glow came from the fist-sized lump in the middle. A few, small blue-green spots of the uniform remained unstained by the ooze that it lay in.

_Am I actually feeling sorry for Ensign Ikainet?_

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Captain Picard exited the turbolift onto the bridge. He'd just seen Zor Bitarl and her assistant off the ship, concluding, for him, another detail. The duty officer handed him a note padd and the captain studied the communication log on it carefully.

Counselor Troi met him at the rear comm station and reported on the status of all those Caroomadi dignitaries she'd been left to deal with. They had all left the ship before Bitarl; most of them, including all of the representatives from the Caroomadi government, were very understanding and accepted the termination of their dinner plans with little comment. Apparently, Zor Bitarl's reputation and their respect for the detective's abilities were enough to satisfy them. Only a few minor officials complained openly, and they had been quickly silenced by their superiors. Bitarl had taken upon herself the task of informing the government officials of what had happened on the hangar deck.

Picard left the duty officer in command of the bridge, turned and walked down the ramp to his ready room. Counselor Troi followed him. _Uh, oh._ She wanted to talk about something.

"Counselor?" he asked after he had safely seated himself behind his desk.

"I was wondering how Ensign Ikainet was doing."

"Not good. Apparently, she withdrew her warp field to prevent Bayairiz from using its energy on Bitarl or Worf. Unfortunately, when she collapsed the field this cut her off from our reality and it seems she has inadvertently isolated herself. Commander Riker and Mr. Data are hoping to be able to get the other H'cars to help them, but the prospects don't look good."

"They won't help?" Troi asked surprised.

"They can't. Or rather, they don't know how." The counselor nodded.

"I sense that Ensign Ikainet's predicament troubles you."

The captain sat back in his chair, giving in to her tacit inquiries about his emotional state.

"Do you want to know the honest truth, Counselor?" It was a rhetorical question and Troi waited for him to answer it. "I don't care what happens to Ensign Ikainet. I honestly don't give a damn about her predicament. She isn't dead. She's just...gotten herself stuck in her own subspace continuum and she's apparently too stupid to find her way out of it without help."

"You're still bothered by what happened."

"It isn't what happened that bothers me." He let his shoulders drop and sighed. "It's the fact that I don't care. I should. From all accounts, it appears that Ensign Ikainet sacrificed herself, without hesitation, to save the lives of the people around her. I should care about that. But I don't."

"How do you feel about that?"

He shrugged and looked down at the blank screen standing upright on his desk. "I don't feel anything really." He could see his reflection in the black plastic. He could see his reflection in Ensign Ikainet's eyes if he stood at the right angle.

"And that troubles you."

"It shouldn't. I've been trying to feel nothing about Ensign Ikainet for days."

"I don't understand."

He looked up at the Betazoid. "It is very unprofessional for a captain to harbor a serious dislike for any subordinate, no matter how irritating they might be."

"And Ensign Ikainet irritates you."

"Yes. And it irritates me that she does. That she can intrude upon my peace of mind to such a degree that I dread seeing her walk into the room." Troi didn't mention that Picard also dreaded seeing her mother arrive. But the counselor herself dreaded seeing her mother as well.

"I should have been able to stand back and look at Ensign Ikainet dispassionately, without letting my personal feelings affect my judgement." Many times Deanna Troi had vowed to herself that she would be more detached about the friction between her and her mother. And her mother always managed to throw her off balance anyway.

"And now we have a situation with Ensign Ikainet," Picard went on, "for which I think I should feel some concern. And I don't." Troi resettled herself in her seat, her thoughts returning to what he was saying.

"Perhaps you feel more for Ensign Ikainet than you think."

"Hmm," he muttered. The counselor had that thoughtful look on her face that she used when she was evaluating a patient. Picard didn't think he harbored any hidden trauma about Ikainet and the H'cars; he just wanted to get them off his ship.

He wasn't in the mood to be analyzed if that was what Troi intended. He'd never mentioned it to her before; he didn't think she'd appreciate hearing it, but all Troi's conversations, even casual, off-duty ones, sounded to him like psycho-therapy.

"Well, it doesn't matter how I feel now." He picked up the note padd that the duty officer had given him when he had first came onto the bridge. "Starfleet has given us orders for our next assignment. Our mission has been completed here as far as they're concerned. We need to leave Caro in four hours." He slid the note padd over to her. Their next mission assignment started with a rendezvous with another Starfleet ship to pick up a gravity well specialist.

"What about Ensign Ikainet?" Troi asked, looking up from the writing on the padd.

The captain sighed and settled back in his chair.

"If we cannot solve Ikainet's problem in the next four hours, then we shall have to leave her behind and hope the other H'cars and the Caroomadi can help her."

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

The caterers had gathered up the last of their tools and decorations. Ten Forward looked gray, barren and stripped. The only furnishings left were a collection of small tables where all the food had been placed and a few of chairs.

Commander Riker found Lorn Kel alone in the room, sitting at one of the tables.

"Got everything?" he asked.

She looked up from the long list on her note padd. Her huge, china doll eyes looked very sad to Riker.

"Just about," she responded, disappointment evident in her voice. Riker sat down in the chair next to her.

"There will be other dinners," he sympathized.

"Not like this one." Zor Bitarl hosting a dinner party on a Starfleet flagship; Kel doubted that she would see another opportunity like this for her career for a long time. She picked up a small cracker with an outline exactly like the emblem that the Starfleet people wore on their chests and ate it. It was a grievous violation of protocol for her to eat from a plate that had been prepared for honored guests, but it didn't matter. The mountains of food on the tables next to her would not be eaten now.

"What a waste. I hate wasting it."

"Well, I could have everything put in stasis. I'm sure the crew would appreciate it later." Riker smiled at her, a "cheer up" sort of smile. Several of the dishes were already in stasis containers. When the dinner party had been initially delayed by the departure of the hosts, Kel had ordered emergency preservation measures, so that the food would be fresh when served.

"Thanks." Her small mouth curled up. The dinner party wasn't the only event being wasted. His arms rested on the table in front of him. He sat with his legs spread like an open invitation. She'd heard stories about Starfleet officers and had looked forward to verifying those tales for herself. And Riker had the most exotic pale, blue eyes she'd ever seen. She reached out and lightly touched his arm. He kept smiling. Her hand went below the table to his knee and then his upper thigh. "It would be a shame to wast it."

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

"I do not believe that we will be able to meet our deadline regarding Ensign Ikainet." Data stood before the captain's desk. The captain frowned back and Data's positronic brain recalculated the parameters of his evaluation of Ensign Ikainet's present condition, as if he might suddenly produce a positive result to give to his captain. But after spending a whole 400 milliseconds on his re-evaluation, nothing new emerged.

"I see." The captain wasn't surprised. He wasn't pleased. He wasn't worried about Ikainet; she was bound to reconstitute herself sometime, as soon as someone figured out how to teach the other H'cars to help. At worst, Captain Tzaki would be assigned to the problem when he arrived to pick his ensign up. Picard just hated leaving the job unfinished.

For all her faults, Ensign Ikainet had fulfilled her duties. And he hadn't, somehow, in regards to her.

"Mr. Worf is transporting the other H'cars down to the surface by shuttle. And I've ordered Dr. Blakox to pack Ensign Ikainet's things-"

"Blakox to Captain Picard." The comm interrupted him.

"Picard here," he answered, surprised by the call and Blakox's timing.

"Sir, I'm in Ensign Ikainet's quarters and I've just looked at her final log, and I think you should see it."

Data tilted his head, puzzled. All Starfleet personnel were required to log some kind of "final log", even if it was to record that they didn't have anything to say. Starfleet duty, especially on starships, was very hazardous. Regulations, for practical reasons, demanded that anyone on active duty keep a current will; the final log was a personal statement, a declaration that could be played by survivors in case of untimely death. It hadn't occurred to the android to look for Ikainet's final log; she wasn't really dead after all. But if they were not able to restore her to her real space form, she would be effectively "dead" as far as her Starfleet career was concerned.

"I'm on my way. Picard out." The captain got up from his seat and he and Data left the ready room together.

**- - - End Part 17**


	28. Chapter 29

**DINNER AT TEN-FORWARD**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 18: ****The Measure of a H'car**

_I must be getting sentimental,_ Ranip Blakox thought to himself.

He'd brought boxes and packing material and sent the attending ensigns away. He would do this job himself and call them back later to take the filled boxes away. But Blakox hadn't done anything more than inventory what was there before he packed it.

It just wasn't right.

Blakox was a self-proclaimed sarcastic cynic. But he still had his own sense of justice. And it just didn't seem right to him that Picard should be allowed get away with pouring Ensign Ikainet into a bottle after he was finished using her, dumping her on her home world and moving on. Not without accounting for it somehow.

Only half of the windowless room's lights were on, making the place as gloomy as a funeral parlor. Blakox thought that the lighting was entirely suitable to the occasion. He'd already checked the bedroom and the lavatory and they contained nothing to be packed. The bedroom was totally empty and unused; no furniture, no decoration. The lavatory was spotless and unremarkable except for the pink towels with citrine Starfleet emblems all over them like polka-dots. Blakox had brought them out to use as extra packing material for Ikainet's other effects.

The door to Ensign Ikainet's quarters slid aside for Mr. Data and the Captain.

_I must control these sentimental tendencies in myself if they're driving me to call Picard._

Doctor Blakox stood holding his inventory list in front of him at a central table . The captain, with Data following, approached and looked down at Doctor Blakox's list and then around at the objects scattered about the room. The Iotian was pleased to see Picard's gaze fall upon Ikainet's painting of the back of his head, hanging over the sofa. The captain looked away from it quickly.

"You wanted me to see Ensign Ikainet's final log, Doctor Blakox."

"Yes, Sir." Blakox turned the tabletop computer terminal toward his senior officers. "It's quite unusual."

"How?"

"It's a bit...brief, Sir."

Blakox tapped a blue square on the screen's control padd. The screen lit. Ensign Ikainet's head and shoulders appeared, her mouth gaping open.

"Good bye," she said breathlessly. The screen went blank.

Data cocked his head. Picard favored his chief sociologist with a sour glare for dragging him down to these quarters just to see that. Blakox cocked his head in a half imitation of Data. He had intended to say something suitably scathing to the captain about Ikainet's fate. But with Picard's hawkish frown aimed at him, it suddenly seemed like a very unwise idea to criticize the captain's command conduct toward an Ensign that Blakox claimed he didn't really care for. Perhaps Cercy would have been foolish enough to say something back to Picard's obvious displeasure. Perhaps he should have taken Cercy's offer of help instead of insisting on doing the job alone. But he was in a bad mood, and he hadn't wanted any company.

Like the mechanisms of the rest of the universe, it really wasn't fair. Picard had won again somehow. Blakox realized that he'd had real hopes that Ensign Ikainet would topple this paragon of Starfleet officiousness. He'd neither expected nor wanted Ikainet to be responsible for Picard's death or any serious injury, however unlikely that was. Blakox had decided soon after coming aboard the _Enterprise_ that Picard was one of those officers who had an insane and incalculable luck that insured survival even through the most preposterously dangerous situations. But Ikainet had an astonishing talent for the ridiculous, one which Blakox had hoped would drive or embarrass or whittle the captain down to some comprehensible level of humanity.

But there he was, still impervious to everything. And Ensign Ikainet was under glass down in Mr. Data's laboratory.

Picard glared back down at the blank screen and then wandered over to a shelf of odds and ends; books, relics, knick-knacks. Picard wasn't interested in whatever game Blakox was playing by bringing him down to see Ikainet's last log.

"That was a very...efficient log," Data finally commented after a long silence.

"Yes, well," the sociologist answered. "It still deserved a hearing. Doctor Crusher gave me the authorization to access it. Ensign Ikainet isn't exactly dead, but given the chance that they won't figure out how to resuscitate her, we should at least leave her last words...ah, word...behind with the rest of her things."

The captain looked down at the ensign's collection of possessions. Some of them appeared to be quite old, others looked like junk. He spotted a small black-lacquered can with ornate gold and mother-of-pearl inlay. "Open Me" was inscribed on its side in delicate gold calligraphy. Would Ensign Ikainet have left some message behind? Unlikely. If there was any last message from her in that container, it would be because someone had told her to put it there.

Picard reached out and picked up the cylinder. He tentatively shook it. A few tiny somethings rattled around in the bottom of it. There was no other writing on it except for the "Open Me" legend. He tried the lid. Pulling didn't work, but it had a slight side to side give to it. Grasping it firmly he twisted and it came loose.

"Very thoughtful of you to look it up, Lieutenant," the captain began as he unscrewed the lid. "But I don't think that it will be ne...ugh!"

Yellow and red flashed at him. Gold glittered at his eyes. Picard started back, blinking, shielding his face. The can and its lid dropped, bounced and rolled away from him on the floor. For a moment he just stood there, completely startled. Data had taken a swift step toward him, but stopped, baffled.

Cautiously, Picard looked down at himself. The front of his uniform was sprinkled with gold sparkles. A yellow, paper snake slithered off his shoulder as he reached up to brush futilely at the clinging gold. Another snake draped his shoulders, while the remaining three lay coiled at his feet.

"Sir?" Data asked, responding to a peculiar noise that his captain made.

What had at first seemed to be a cough, a clearing of the throat, developed into what sounded like a chuckle. Picard's shoulders shook. Data looked on in concern, but he couldn't see the captain's expression; his head was bowed, looking down at the long lengths of color at his feet. Curious, Data knelt and picked one up. It was a typical toy snake, garishly colored red with yellow flame-like eyes and a yellow, forked tongue sticking out of its mouth. It was made of some paper-like material, probably artificial, since it was too lightweight to be ordinary paper. Data experimentally pulled and pushed it along its length. It expanded and contracted easily and the android estimated that it would be no more than one centimeters long completely compressed. It's natural springiness suggested that it would immediately resume its former length once released.

"Uh...hmm." Data looked up at Picard critically. The sound that the captain had just made had resembled no kind of word; just a harmonic noise ejected from his throat. Picard now looked up and Data read in his face...amusement? Extreme and inarticulate amusement, in fact.

Picard stood there, laughing silently, uncontrollably. He couldn't believe it. He just couldn't believe it. It was as if Ensign Ikainet had reached up at him from out of the grave to stick her finger in his eye. And he knew exactly what she would have said had she been standing there when he'd opened her can of snakes. "Ooooooooooooops!"

He choked on the laughter that this image of the ensign inspired as he unsteadily made his way to the room's central table and sat down. The remaining snakes dribbled off of him on the way. Data was staring at him. Blakox was staring at him.

Picard finally transcended the level of silent heaves to laughing aloud. He propped his head up on his hand, elbow on the table.

"Captain?" Data asked uncertainly.

Picard held up a hand, waving off Data's concern. He had to look like an absolute fool. There was no conceivable way in which the android could comprehend what had just happened. He couldn't understand it himself. And that made his uncontrollable mirth worse. His sides were starting to hurt.

The chair next to him was pulled back. Dr. Blakox leisurely sat down. Astonishment wouldn't even begin to describe his reaction to Picard's performance, but he carefully didn't let it show. Ikainet had won after all, and she wasn't even there.

Blakox kept his face absolutely neutral, calm as he felt a greatly satisfying sense of superiority settle upon him. Picard sitting there, covered with gold sparkles, helplessly he-he'ing and haw-haw'ing like an idiot, it was just too much to believe. Too much to hope for. He knew that he could pay dearly for his sarcasm later, but, he reasoned, this was just too good an opportunity for any sentient being to resist.

"Well," Blakox said conversationally as he leaned lazily back in his chair. "I suppose you've been saving that up for a few decades, haven't you?"

Picard looked back at him. Was he glaring perhaps? If he was, the expression was utterly wasted. He was starting to giggle. There were actual tears forming in his eyes.

"Oh please, don't let me stop you." Blakox spread his arms magnanimously. "I could go to the replicator and order up a few banana peels. We can all have a really good, cheap, laugh together."

"Do...you...have a...problem, Doctor?" Picard managed to get out between laughs.

"Oh no," Blakox answered cheerfully. Spoken in a serious tone, that question could have been quite intimidating-Picard was a champion of intimidation-but the rampant chuckle left it completely defanged. "It's just that I've been on this ship for, oooooh, two years now, and in all that time I don't think I've ever seen you so much as crack a smile. Now you're giggling like an idiot over what must be one of the most boorish, infantile pranks known in the galaxy. That joke is so old it could only stir the most primitive sense of humor in at least 87 civilizations that I know of, and probably more. The Argelians prefer to use winged serpents stuffed in wine jars. The Shantil do it with caterpillars. And the Klingons...well it's not very pretty. They load the entrails of people they don't like with springs."

This brought a fresh wave of chortles from the captain. He had a very wide, long smile that made his whole face grin. His eyes scrunched up and curved with mirth. But Blakox could see that the laughing fit was fading fast. And perhaps his tour of duty on this ship. It had been nice while it lasted.

Picard didn't know why Blakox didn't like him. He'd never really bothered to find out. But Blakox had always carried himself with a snobbish air of a scientist who considered commanding officers to be a necessary evil, a price to be paid for serving on starships. It was a bit disappointing for Picard. Archaeology was a favorite interest of his and Blakox had an outstanding background in archaeology even though he was primarily an anthropologist/sociologist. Before he'd signed on with Starfleet, Blakox had personally led the research team that had been responsible for the revival of his home world's original culture-which had been nearly wiped out by a disastrous first contact with an early Earth explorer two hundred years ago-on Iotia. Blakox fulfilled his duties well, occasionally brilliantly, but he had made it quite clear, early on during his tour of duty, that he had no time for amateurs in archaeology. The captain, respecting the Iotian's reputation, had left him alone.

The captain straightened in his seat and finally controlled at least the audible signs of his mirth.

"Are you all right now, Captain?" Data asked. The android had been quite pleased to witness such a free display of emotion, particularly from Picard, in whom such was almost unheard of.

Picard sighed. "Yes, Mr. Data," he answered without looking up. Blakox looked less friendly and more unhappy. But he always looked unhappy whenever Picard saw him, as if he needed something to complain about.

"Well, I suppose Ensign Ikainet got the last word after all," the Iotian noted.

"I suppose so," the captain chuckled to himself. _The last word. Like a message in a bottle. Except Ikainet's bottle had been full of snakes. A typically meaningless message from her... a message..._

Picard straightened.

"A message...of course." He tapped his comm badge.

"Picard to LaForge."

"LaForge here."

"Mr. LaForge, would it be possible to put Ensign Ikainet's remains into a torpedo casing?"

"Sir?"

"Would it be possible, Mr. LaForge, to put Ensign Ikainet into a torpedo casing for launching?" Picard enunciated more distinctly this time.

"Uh, yes, Sir. There shouldn't be any problem, her force fields won't-"

"Then make it so. I want the torpedo loaded into a forward launcher in five minutes. Picard out."

"Captain?" Data asked, baffled. Blakox said nothing. Had Ensign Ikainet's flair for the ridiculous suddenly become catching?

"A way to communicate, Mr. Data," he answered with a smile.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

Captain Picard strode onto the bridge, followed by Lieutenant Commander Data, and Doctor Blakox. Lieutenant Worf momentarily stared before quickly averting his eyes back to his station. The captain's face and the front of his uniform were littered with gold sparkles.

The captain didn't even give his security officer a second glance as he strode down the ramp to the command deck. Blakox stayed back by the science station behind Worf. He didn't feel comfortable on the bridge; it was full of far too many people rushing about with petty emergencies. But he was compelled to stay by his own curiosity to see Picard's plan hatch out.

Data went to the fore Ops station. Commander Riker, hair mussed up, entered from a fore turbolift. Answering his captain's call for senior officers to the bridge, he briefly looked down in shock at Picard's gold-sprinkled forehead as he passed in front of the center seat. The captain looked up, equally surprised by his first officer's untidy appearance. The commander must have been interrupted in something, since he was usually very conscientious about his appearance. Riker sat down in his own chair.

"Mr. LaForge," Picard addressed the open air on the bridge. It couldn't have been much more than five minutes since he'd issued his orders to the engineer, but if LaForge was his usual efficient self...

"Yes Captain," the chief engineer answered. "We're ready here...I guess."

It didn't sound like LaForge meant for him to hear the doubtful tone of those last two words, so Picard ignored them.

"Mr. Worf," the captain said cheerfully to the Klingon behind him as he sat back and made himself comfortable. "Activate the forward torpedo launcher. Aim away from the planet, please. Set the torpedo to stop at 100,000 kilometers. And ready main phasers, full power." As baffled as a Klingon could be, Worf linked his firing sequence to LaForge's blinking ready signal on his tactical station.

"Sir?" Riker questioned.

Picard held up a reassuring hand. "Mr. Data, I want you to program into the phaser firing sequence the immediate retrieval signal."

The android swiftly recalled the firing sequence program that the _Enterprise_ had used to communicate with Ikainet in free space.

"Firing sequence ready, Sir."

A sly, admiring grin spread across Riker's face. Picard saw it out of the corner of his eye, but he didn't acknowledge it. He was enjoying himself too much. This had to work. Picard didn't know why, but he felt not the slightest trace of doubt that this would work.

Worf, who'd also figured out his captain's plan, was not so confident as he remembered the massive plasma energy in Ensign Ikainet's inner core.

"With respect, Sir. We do not know what will happen. I suggest we raise the shields."

"By all means Mr. Worf," Picard replied generously. "Raise the shields."

The captain crossed his legs and almost sighed as if he were savoring the moment.

"Mr. Worf. Fire."

Worf complied with a torpedo-firing bleep from his tactical board.

"Firing, Sir."

After a momentary pause. "The torpedo has stopped at 100,000 kilometers," Data announced.

Riker saw his captain smiling confidently.

"Mr. Data. Fire."

Data fired. The forward phasers lanced forward in their pre-determined sequence.

An invisible speck in the center of the view screen exploded outward, bursting into a cylindrical body with unevenly-spaced, craggy, crystalline branches.

And then it immediately collapsed into a fuzzy ball of yellowish energy that whizzed forward.

"Captain...!" Data saw the danger first on the Ops scanners.

The whole ship shuddered. The lights flashed. The regular _Enterprise_ crew, having experienced this ship-shaking phenomena many times before-there was actually gymnastics program at Starfleet Academy devoted exclusively to maintaining one's balance during fluctuating gravity on starships-managed to stay sitting or standing.

Blue-white light briefly flashed immediately in front of the captain before Ensign Ikainet appeared mere centimeters from him.

"Reporting, Sir!" Ikainet announced breathily.

Picard sat absolutely still, only his eyes acknowledging her.

"She went through the shields," Riker groaned.

Picard didn't move. The silence dragged on. Riker almost said something, but he stopped himself. Ensign Ikainet was bending over the captain, her face, her big eyes, her open mouth were right up in front of him. Picard remained motionless, immobile as stone, but not still. His expression changed. A tiny lowering of the eyebrows, a tightening of the lips that threw back a wall of contempt at the intrusive, errant H'car.

Picard presided over the long silence. He could hear the rustlings of the people around him, but he felt perfectly content to wait, and make everyone else wait as well. Data and Lt. Monroe at the helm were staring a him and the ensign. Even with Ensign Ikainet so rudely close to him, he felt a profound sense of...equilibrium.

Data studied Picard intensely. The captain's expression was of satisfaction, confidence, surety, certainty, superiority, arrogance... Data sorted through and tested all the adjectives that might fit the captain's expression in a few milliseconds. His captain had very complex facial expressions, and Data had spent many milliseconds analyzing them. This one was exceptionally complex and went far beyond the satisfaction that Data would expect Picard to exhibit after he had successfully recovered Ensign Ikainet.

Doctor Blakox frowned down at Ensign Ikainet from the aft bridge. She was almost close enough to kiss Picard. Did she look happier than usual? Perhaps. Was she grateful that Picard had resurrected her? Maybe. Blakox looked about him, but no one else showed any sign of moving; the happy bridge minions were content to wait for their captain's pleasure. Blakox could only see the top of Picard's bald head sitting in the lower command section. _I suppose he has to take sufficient time to congratulate himself for his brilliant solution to Ikainet's problem. Well, don't get too comfortable, Captain. I saw that laugh, and I've got Data as a witness._

Ikainet was so close that Picard could see the faint reflection of his own eyes and eyebrows in her vacant, indigo ones. But he didn't feel the least bit annoyed by her. Captain Tzaki had a very laissez faire attitude toward Ensign Ikainet, and Picard realized that this was really the only sensible way to deal with her. As Tzaki had said, Starfleet had decreed that she be an ensign. She was obviously smart enough to keep from getting thrown out of Starfleet-just barely-so, there wasn't any point to letting her antics bother him.

But Picard knew he wasn't the type to be laissez faire about anything under his command that was as disruptive as Ensign Ikainet. And that was really where all his problems with her had been coming from. Captain Tzaki was tolerant to a fault. Clearly this was a requirement for being Ensign Ikainet's superior officer.

_I'm just not suited to being your captain,_ he silently decided to the ensign before him. For the first time since Ikainet had first shook his hand two weeks ago on Rigel he felt above her, as if even her grossest violations of protocol and good taste were beneath his notice. This was probably how Doctor Blakox felt all the time, which was doubtless what had insulated him from Ikainet's peculiarities.

Why should he let her bother him? He remembered what Ikainet herself had said back to Nagilum when that entity had pointed out to her the shortcomings of the humans around her. _Sooooooooooooo._

Guinan had been right after all. A hint of a smile curled his lips; his sense of inner peace deepened. There had been at least one thing he could learn from Ensign Ikainet.

His gaze flicked down and up her body, his expression critical.

"Oooo!" Ikainet leaped back into some loose approximation of attention. She was capable of reading and reacting to subtlety after all, he determined. She just never used it for herself. Most likely her perpetual use of the unsubtle was a true telling of whatever personality she might actually possess.

"Damage report, Mr. Worf," the captain ordered, leisurely sitting back in the command chair. He didn't look away from the H'car.

"All sections report negligible damage, Sir."

_Of course not._ He decided that he would put her on report-again-for malicious mischief and threatening to endanger the ship. The charges sounded a bit petty to him, but he couldn't just let her go through the ship's shields without doing _something_.

"Ensign," he addressed her. "You will go with Doctor Blakox to your quarters where you will pack your things for transport. Then after you transport your things, and your transfer orders down to Caro, you will go there yourself. For your next assignment." His smiled pleasantly at her, as if he were delivering his final blessing.

"Oooo!" she exclaimed. There was a pause, as if she were hoping for more from him.

"You may go, Ensign," the captain told her, giving her the direct order, the push she needed to react to. All the facts about Blakox, her quarters, the complete text of her transfer orders, plus every Starfleet regulation related to the transfer of officers and several thousand million other facts bubbled up to the fore of her mind.

"Good-bye!" she gasped back at Picard. She swiveled to the side and marched to the ramp to upper bridge. Commander Riker saw Picard let out sigh of genuine relief just after the turbolift doors closed behind her.

**- - - End Part 18**


	29. Chapter 30

**DINNER AT TEN-FORWARD**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 19: ****The Final Banquet**

"Jean-Luc, you should go."

Picard continued to stare at his daily ship reports, ignoring the doctor in front of him. She reached down, in front of the screen and turned it off.

"Beverly—"

"Jean-Luc," she instructed when he finally looked up at her. "There's no point in making work for yourself all alone in your cabin." He sat at the desk in the main room of his quarters, the rooms were dark, except for the work area. "You're not a hermit."

"Beverly, I don't really feel like going." She leaned forward.

"Afraid the crew might catch the captain letting his hair down?" He scowled. "Figuratively, at least."

"I am not afraid of going. I just don't feel like making an appearance-"

"You won't be making an appearance. You'll be going to a party. This isn't an official function, Jean-Luc." She put one hand on her hip, the other on his desk and delivered her clincher. "Guinan specifically wanted you to come."

"She did?" he answered suspiciously. She nodded.

"It's her party."

"I thought Commander Riker had arranged it."

"Well, he did," she admitted. "But Guinan helped, and they're using Ten Forward. I think Will promised the head caterer that we wouldn't waste all her food. And everyone is invited. Including you." Picard gave an exasperated sigh, still reluctant.

"A lot's happened to you in the past few days. You could use the break."

He looked down at his hands. She'd already checked them earlier that evening; they looked normal again and she'd declared them were 90% healed. He would have to wait another day for 100%. "Is that an order, Doctor?"

"If it'll get you to come, yes."

He gave up. He just wasn't going to get rid of her unless he went. After showing himself, he decided he could sneak away after ten minutes or so; he just wasn't in the mood for socializing. All he really wanted to do was get caught up on his work and go to bed.

He stood up and she hooked her arm around his as if she were claiming him as a prize and they left for Ten Forward.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

"Mmmmmmmmm." Counselor Troi savored the sweet, smooth texture of the fudge. Her plate was littered with the samples of over a dozen gourmet desserts. She sat with Will Riker in a slightly less crowded corner of Ten Forward, the party in full swing around them.

"I told them you liked chocolate," Riker chatted next to her. "And Kel made sure there was a good selection to pick from."

"Mmmmmmmmm," Troi repeated. "This is exquisite." Riker grinned. He didn't care much for sweets, but Deanna Troi was a chocolate aficionado. The only time he saw her experience pleasure that came even remotely close to a chocolate fix was when she made love.

"We've got to get the pattern for this for the replicators," Troi declared. Riker leaned close as she savored another bite.

"Kel gave me the recipes," he whispered in her ear.

"Mmmmmmmmmmm."

In another part of the room, standing by a heavily laden refreshment table Commanders LaForge and Data found Chief O'Brien sampling a Caroomadi ale.

"Oh, yes, she got off all right. Except when that little idiot hopped onto transporter pad after I beamed her things down to the planet. She set off all the sensor alarmsw when they hit those force fields of hers."

"I thought she couldn't use the transporter." Keiko Ishikawa asked. Data had introduced them a couple of months ago and the android noted that he was seeing them together off-duty more and more often.

"Oh, she can't." He scoffed. "I think she just wanted to pull just one more stunt before she got pushed off the ship."

"How did she leave then?" Keiko asked.

"Well, she just stood there and stared back at Blakox and that other fellow-uh, Cercy I think-and waved her hands." O'Brien demonstrated with one hand. "And said, 'Good-bye!' " He did a reasonably good, breathless impression of Ensign Ikainet, with his eyes open very wide. "And then she disappeared, and that was it. Except that I checked with the bridge to make sure she actually made it down to the planet."

"It doesn't hurt to make sure," Geordi LaForge agreed. "How is it?"

"Oh, the ale?" O'Brien held the glass out. "Actually, it's pretty good. In fact, all of it's pretty

good." He gestured toward the food. "Kind of surprising."

"Try this." Keiko Ishikawa held out a couple of miniature phaser crackers with red and black topping. Data analyzed and evaluated the taste and texture and found them optimally complex for a humanoid palette.

"Hey, this is pretty good," LaForge agreed.

"It's all fantastic," she told them.

"It's a good thing Ensign Ikainet isn't here," O'Brien commented. "There's no telling what she'd do with it."

One of the big double doors to Ten Forward opened to let two people out. Captain Picard and Doctor Crusher entered.

The room was filled, but not overcrowded. Clusters of people chatted at all the tables and around the bar. Picard smiled genially, the same smile he used for official ship occasions. Crusher sighed and took his arm.

The captain halted ten paces into the room. The pink, fruit-mold _Enterprise_ was there, on it's own table in the center of the room. People had been eating it. Big sections of the saucer section were missing. The starboard nacelle was almost completely gone. An ensign paused, a shocked look on his face when he saw Picard catching him carving away a big section of the port nacelle.

The captain looked away and moved on through the crowd. Crusher led him to the refreshment tables. The people at the tables saw them coming and made room for the captain. Picard often didn't care for the conspicuousness his rank gave him, but it could be handy sometimes. The gathering wasn't nearly as bad as he thought it would be. Someone had shown some good taste and portioned up the large representational food sculptures and Picard noted with some satisfaction, and some relief, that not a single image of Ensign Ikainet remained unsliced, face up, or uncovered by topping.

"You've got to try some of this. It's wonderful," Beverly Crusher reached for a stack of small plates. Picard sighed. He'd already had a light dinner. He looked about the room again. The party seemed to be going quite well. Ten Forward had been returned to its familiar cozy decor. A group of people were just arriving, joining in. Most people were talking or laughing, but it wasn't too noisy. Some nondescript music played softly in the background. The atmosphere was really quite pleasant. He turned back to the doctor.

He saw a long, bright green thing coming at his face.

He started back. Doctor Crusher put the snack in her own mouth as if that were the mouth she'd been initially aiming at.

"That isn't funny," he told her in a harsh whisper. She chewed back at him, her eyes smiling, and handed him a plate of munchies.

"Try this; it's fantastic," she said with her mouth full.

He picked up a yellow and orange starburst and tasted it. It had a light, flaky crust with a pureed center with little crunchy bits of vegetables adding to the texture and flavor. Pleasantly surprised he ate the rest of it. He sampled the tiny space station next. Crusher went to the table that contained the drinks and came back with two glasses of pale orange punch. He sipped from the rim of the glass. It was an excellent Antarian nectar. The best he'd ever tasted, in fact.

"The Caroomadi didn't use any replicators. It's all the real thing. Including the alcohol," she pointed out as he took another sip.

"I've had real alcohol before," he said back, annoyed that she thought he needed to be warned about it. His father had been a vintner when he'd been alive, after all, and his brother still maintained the family vineyards.

"Just don't have more than four glasses."

They wandered away from the crowds at the refreshments and over to the view ports. Stars streaked towards and past the ship. Caro was lightyears behind them. There weren't any empty places to sit and Picard didn't feel like displacing anyone. He turned back and looked over the activity in the room from the upper level of Ten Forward. More people were arriving and the port nacelle on the fruit-mold _Enterprise_ had disappeared. It really was a very nice party.

***oo*oo* *oo*oo* *oo*oo***

It was late. Past 0130. The party was winding down. Families and their children had long since abandoned Ten Forward. Couples had gone their own ways. Most of the food and drink had been mowed down by Starfleet's finest. Less than 30 people remained.

Blakox leaned against the bar. Guinan, obviously pleased with the successful evening, wandered over to him.

"Pretty good send off for Ensign Ikainet," the Iotian commented.

Guinan raised her non-existent eyebrows. "I had no idea this was a farewell party."

Blakox rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "Well, I suppose I might be the only one to think of it that way. But her people did supply the food. And given the way Ensign Ikainet comports herself, I wouldn't be surprised at all if spontaneous celebrations spring up whenever she leaves." He and Guinan looked across the room at a table where Captain Picard was having an involved discussion with Commander Riker. Doctor Crusher sat next to the captain and Data stood over them. Occasionally they would contribute, but the floor belonged to the two commanding officers.

"Ikainet certainly seems to have brought out a bright streak of humanity in the captain," Blakox noted with satisfaction.

"Looks like the same Jean-Luc Picard I've always known." Blakox looked back at her. It was widely rumored that Picard and the Ten Forward host were old friends under some mysterious circumstances, but no one knew any specifics. As a consequence, the rumors that Blakox had heard had been very imaginative and he discounted all of them out-of-hand. He turned back to observing the captain.

"Well, he's certainly been hiding it very well all this time."

"Or maybe you haven't been looking for it." Blakox looked back at her again. Guinan was entirely benign, dark and wise in her orange tunic and matching octagonal hat. Blakox couldn't think of a suitable reply. He looked at the captain.

"Well, maybe," he muttered.

Over at their table, Picard was furiously gesturing with his hands at Riker, but Blakox couldn't quite make out what was being said beyond snatches about fencing and horses and Berengaian dragons.

Maybe Guinan had some insight into Picard's true inner nature, but Blakox was certain that he was seeing a side to his captain that had previously been hidden. Maybe it was this past mission that had done it. Maybe Ensign Ikainet had shaken something loose when she'd gotten into his brain. Maybe it was some delayed reaction to some other recent mishap, like the Borg.

But Ranip Blakox preferred to think that it had been Ensign Ikainet's can of snakes that had unleashed Picard's repressed casual nature.

Or maybe it was the drinks.

"You didn't tell him that most of the libations left behind by the Caroomadi contain _real_ alcohol, did you?"

Guinan picked up a perfectly clean glass and started wiping it with a cloth. "Oh, I'm sure Doctor Crusher must have told him."

Picard was sitting rather close to the doctor. Blakox had seen Picard finish three different drinks, and he'd probably had more. But Blakox was sure that Doctor Crusher had been carrying around the same glass all evening.

_I suppose those rumors about those two are going to start up again. Especially if she ends up tucking him into bed._

"Of course she did," he agreed.

** END**

**Note:** This story was written by me and first printed (under the name 'Anne Davenport') in 1994, by Orion Press, as a separate fan novel back in the hard-copy and snail-mail days of fan-fiction, when the internet was just taking off.

**From Original Zine: A Few Brief Words...**

This story took me literally years to get around to writing and I take enormous pride and pleasure in that it contains many, many scenes of genuine interaction between the characters and of outrageous silliness that I feel quite, quite certain would never make it into the pro novels or the television series and tells the tale of a type of alien with physical characteristics that would make even the _Star Trek_ make-up geniuses hesitate to do. That's what fan fiction is for.

To place a specific time for this story, this slightly disjoint and messy tale takes place _after_ "Best of Both Worlds" and _before_ "Final Mission", from the 4th season of _STAR TREK: The Next Generation._

The author would like to thank all those people who read the earlier drafts, with all those confusing names and typos and such, for their opinions, spell-checking and editorial help, including Deb Galeone, Kathy McNee, Jo-Ann Lassieter, Priscilla Ball, Katherine Davenport and Madeline Hill.

**Disclaimer:** All Trek characters and the universe belong to Paramount; I'm just playing in that sandbox.


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